


Cityscape

by Snailsway



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: AU, Anxiety, Depression, Like really slow, Loneliness, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, doctor!eddy, slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26923555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailsway/pseuds/Snailsway
Summary: Eddy Chen is a promising young cardiologist. Brett Yang is a violinist with whom he develops a strange obsession. Or maybe he'd always been obsessed with Brett.
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 225
Kudos: 298





	1. Chapter 1

They broke up about six months after moving to Sydney together. Eddy had returned home after eighteen hours at the hospital and she had said, we need to talk.

Perhaps tomorrow, he suggested.

But she had been bottling it up for some time and needed to get it out of her system. It started with the fact that he forgot about their fourth anniversary the other week, then broadened to the general issue that he worked all the time and, when he wasn’t working, was thinking about work. It was all very cliché, but he knew she was earnest.

“It’s just that, you’re always thinking about how to get ahead, planning your next steps. Which is good, I guess, but it stresses me out.”

Eddy listened patiently, interrupting only once to say, very gently, “We knew the first year would be difficult. I want to make a good impression. If you could just give me some time—”

“But I can’t. Or actually, I have. But I hardly ever see you, and we never do anything special, and you’re always tired. We barely have anything to talk about anymore. To be honest, I’m so lonely here. I can’t tell if . . .”

“I do love you,” he said quickly, because that’s usually the right thing to say. Though maybe what she had wanted to say was, she couldn’t tell if _she_ loved _him_ anymore. Anyway, she was crying too hard at that point to say much else. He held her and did his best to comfort her until they both fell into exhausted slumber. A few hours later, he woke up and drove back to the hospital for another long shift.

She must have thought some more during those hours, because after he came back, she broke up with him very definitively, and a few days later, she was gone.

*

“Good job today,” said Janine. “I can tell you’re more comfortable in the operating room now. Keep it up.”

Eddy smiled, pleased. Janine was notoriously difficult, and the weeks of exhaustion suddenly seemed worth it. Even the breakup . . . well, that wasn’t _worth it_ , per se, but it was easier to swallow.

“Night’s still young. Have any plans? Maybe take your girl out for a nice dinner.”

“We broke up, actually. Last week.”

“Ah. Sorry to hear that.” She didn’t sound particularly sorry, but she was divorced and had a low view of romance, Eddy already knew. “Well, you’re still young. Twenty . . . ?”

“Eight.”

“Fetus,” she said, with a bark of laughter. “Anyway, plenty of fish in the sea. Try not to bang the nurses though. I know they’ve been eyeing you, but these days, it always ends up in a harassment claim, or worse. You’re one of my best this year, so I’d rather not deal with that.”

Again, the casual compliment, which prompted another rush of adrenaline.

“I’ll try not to do that,” said Eddy.

“Good. Now get out of here while you can.”

*

It was still light out, which was rare. The setting sun dyed the skies a vibrant orange, and a salty ocean breeze blew across the harbor. It smelled like summer. He’d like to think that, had she given him the chance, he _would_ have taken her out to nice dinner, a candlelit lobster affair in the warm night air at that fancy restaurant she liked near the Opera House.

He leaned against his car and contemplated what to do, now that it was just him. Coming up with nothing, he picked up a cold egg sandwich from the usual shop and drove home.

As he lay in bed that night, Eddy ruminated on the fact that he hadn’t seen anyone outside of work for almost two weeks now. More depressingly, even if he wanted to see someone, who would he see?

He’d long stopped meeting people on his own and knew almost no one in Sydney. Not that he knew many people to begin with. Before they dated, he didn’t have any close friends because he was introverted and was too busy studying, and that had been just fine. After they started dating, it had been easy to just hang out with her and co-opt all of her friends. So everyone he knew outside of work in Sydney, he knew through her, and they knew him as her boyfriend, and now she was gone.

Funny how you could see a person almost every day for four years and then, _poof_. Did he love her? He must have. She was pretty and smart and driven—the first and only person he’d ever dated, and he really thought they would get married in two years and buy a nice house after he started making the big bucks, and have a couple of kids. (He’d have to tell his mother about this soon, which will suck, because she’ll be so disappointed.)

He missed her. He found that he didn’t like being alone as much as he used to. He’d grown too used to company.

But, he reminded himself, Janine had said he was one of her best residents, and Janine was one of the best cardiologists in Australia, if not the world. That had to count for something. Eddy focused on that, and not the fact that he was single and had no friends, and he soon fell asleep.

*

The next day began as a tedious repeat of the last. He left the apartment early for his morning shift at the hospital, and he saw no one as he walked towards the garage, not even a porter or doorman that he could say hi to.

The first voice he heard came from the radio.

“You’re listening to 92.2 Classical Radio Sydney. It’s a beautiful morning here, at the tail end of spring, and we have a fun program coming up for you . . . ”

Eddy hadn’t listened to the radio for a very long time, probably not since college. These days, when he was alone, he liked to drive in silence. And before, when he was with her, she liked to play curated Spotify playlists, an eclectic mix of Kpop and nostalgic old anime songs.

Come to think of it, that was how they had bonded in the first place. He had been watching Naruto on his laptop in the library during a brief study break, and she had poked her head over and said, _I love Naruto_. And he, who had never spoken to pretty girls (or girls, generally) outside the context of school projects, had blushed and stuttered, _O-oh really? That’s cool. Me too_.

Enough of that.

Anyway, classical music came before her, had accompanied him during his middle and high school years, so that should be safe to listen to.

The radio host sounded young and upbeat, unusual for this channel. He had a pleasant, low voice with a soothing timbre, and spoke with just the right amount of casualness for this hour of the day. Better than the clowns who hosted the pop station, that’s for sure.

“As Halloween approaches, we start the hour with a piece by Camille Saint-Saëns, one based on an old French folklore, about how Death appears at midnight on Halloween and calls forth the dead from their graves. It reminds us of the universality of death and that, no matter who we are or what we achieve, we are all merely mortal.”

What a cheery way to begin the morning, Eddy mused. He slowed to a stop at the light and took a swig of coffee.

Then: “Ladies and gentlemen, the Dance Mascabar.”

He let out a choked laugh, almost spewing the coffee back out. “Mascabar,” he repeated under his breath. “The fuck.”

*

The piece came to an end right as Eddy slid his car into his parking space.

The host returned to the air and explained, “That was the _Danse_ _Ma—_ Maca _ber_? No?” Eddy heard him whisper, _what did you say?_ “Sorry, _Macabre_. The _Danse Macabre_ , I’m told. Anyway, thanks for tuning in. We have more exciting music coming up. Again, this is 92.2, and I’m—”

*

Eddy was still smiling as he walked towards his desk.

“You’re weirdly chirpy this morning,” Irene remarked with a yawn. She had worked the night shift and looked dead on her feet, though somehow still poised and beautiful in a wan sort of way. “Did Janine say good things about you again?”

Eddy had the grace to look embarrassed. “No, that’s not—I just heard something funny on the radio, is all. Do you ever listen to the classical music channel? The host’s a funny guy. Was mad struggling with his French. Made me feel better about myself, in a weird way.”

“Classical music?” She eyed him curiously with one perfectly-mascaraed eye. "Didn’t know that was your thing. I thought you only listened to J-pop, you weeb.”

Eddy’s smile faded.

“Yeah. Well. Time for a change, I guess.”

He studied the picture on his desk. It was from when they’d gone to Tokyo together. After Irene left the room, he collapsed the frame and slid it into his drawer. He should dispose of it, really, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it so soon.

*

Eddy almost defaulted to his habitual silence the next morning, but, suddenly recalling the funny, failure of a host, decided to turn on the radio after all. The young man was spewing forth some conspiracy theory about the death of Tchaikovsky, and halfway through, Eddy realized that the guy not only struggled with French, but also English.

“While the official records say that Tchaikovsky died from choler _ia_ —no? Oh, chol _e_ ra . . .? _Cho_ lera.” A soft whisper of _shit, who cares_ , that was just audible. “Anyway. Some believe he committed suicide, or ordered to commit suicide, because he was gay, you know, and the Russians . . .

Eddy chuckled again to himself, though this time, he had had the foresight to skip his coffee.

*

The day after that, Eddy reached for the radio dial automatically with something that almost bordered on anticipation. It wasn’t his fault; there was so little to look forward to for young adults caught in the weekly grind of capitalism, especially when they lived by themselves and hardly heard a human voice in their spare time.

The host didn’t disappoint. He said something wildly inappropriate about un _ravel_ ing De _bussy_ and Eddy lost it entirely. The radio cut quickly to the music, but not quickly enough to avoid the damage.

“How is this guy not fired yet,” he murmured to himself. “Not even how you pronounce Debussy.”

He parked his car and loitered just a bit without shutting it off while he waited for his amusement to subside.

He could just hear ambulance sirens in the distance, but other than that, the day was peaceful and sunny. He closed his eyes and leaned back, allowing himself a few rare moments of stillness under the blue skies as the radio continued to play.

“As always, thanks for tuning in. This is _Classical Mornings_ on 92.2, and I’m Brett Yang. Up next, we have . . . .”

Brett Yang. So that was his name, thought Eddy with a lazy yawn.

Then, very slowly, something stirred deep in his subconsciousness. Wait a minute, he thought, hadn’t he known a Brett Yang once, too? 

He sat up again and opened his eyes to stare blankly out the window and across the bustling parking lot. Dusty, fragmented memories that he thought were gone forever resurfaced hazily in his brain. Those endless days of high school that blended one into the next; the sleepy afternoons set to Mr. Huang’s rambling drones about calculus; the anxiety and excitement just before violin competitions; his first taste of alcohol at his first party, and the stolen kiss that followed . . .

There was a Brett Yang that lurked somewhere in those memories. But that Brett Yang was different. That Brett Yang had been a brilliant young violinist, the kind who occasionally featured in local papers, and to whom Asian moms in Brisbane liked to compare their children. Someone who was going somewhere, or so Eddy fervently believed. That Brett Yang would be a soloist by now, recording albums or performing abroad or whatever. There’s no reason he’d be hosting a radio show in Sydney. None at all.

Still, now that Eddy thought about it, a decade had passed between then and now (already? how?), and a lot of things can change in ten years. Eddy had changed, for example. His own violin was gathering dust in the closet.

So sure, the Brett Yang he once knew had dreams and ambitions, but then again, didn’t they all?


	2. Chapter 2

It was Irene who asked him to the Friday night concert. I just happen to have an extra ticket, she said. Eddy almost turned her down, but didn’t, because he could tell that it took her a certain amount of courage to ask him and that she was embarrassed about it, despite appearances. He’d been in that position before, and couldn’t bring himself to say no.

Besides, he was just a little bit curious.

He surprised himself by picking Brett out from the orchestra almost immediately, although, to be fair, it wasn’t that hard. For one, Brett looked just like his picture on LinkedIn and on SSO’s website, and for another, he overlapped almost entirely with the blurred image that still lingered in Eddy’s brain, despite the distance of all these years. The same rectangular glasses, the same black hair, the same soulless expression on his face as he waited for the soloist to walk across the stage and shake hands with the conductor.

The soloist was an up-and-coming violinist from Taiwan who had just won the International Tchaikovsky competition and who would be performing Tchaikovsky’s famous concerto. Incidentally, that was the same concerto Brett had performed with QSO, when he’d won that big competition back in high school. Eddy still remembered skipping exam tutoring to go watch him, which ended in an unpleasant yelling session from his mum.

Later that night, when the screaming ended, Belle had asked him what was so great about Brett. 

He’s different, was all Eddy could say. He’s the real thing _._

What does that even mean _?_

I don’t know. That he’s not going to be a doctor _._

Belle had laughed, but he knew she understood what he meant, because she was also the real thing.

Watching Brett now, an obscure figure in a large orchestra, Eddy was of two minds. On the one hand, Brett clearly hadn’t become the amazing musician that Eddy thought for sure he would. For all his early talent, he’d ended up as just another nameless violinist in the _tutti_ section who, according to his LinkedIn, was probably scraping by with odd jobs on the side, like hosting that radio show.

But on the other hand, Eddy had been right, hadn’t he? Brett had done what he’d set out to do, had become a real musician, and not a doctor or a lawyer or a banker like the rest of them. And for that, that small act of courage, Eddy felt a faint sense of joy.

Joy and disappointment tussled for control of Eddy before finally simmering down to a quiet resignation as the music started. Well, he thought, that’s life.

*

After the concert, he and Irene made their way to a nice bar across the street. The atmosphere was cordial, but neither of them were great talkers, so the conversation grew stilted as the hour grew late and they default back to stale topics about work. Meanwhile, Eddy was thinking that maybe he should seriously consider dating her. It would be easy—they’d get to see each other at work, at least—and their combined income would be extremely high, so their kids would be off to a great start. And with any luck, their kids would inherit her looks.

He was thinking about this when he saw Brett walk through the door. He was flanked by a few other musicians from the orchestra, along with the soloist of the evening. The waitress greeted them like regulars and seated them at a table nearby.

Eddy couldn’t hear everything they said, but he could tell they were laughing at something Brett had said. The orchestral musicians laughed without inhibition, while the soloist hid his muted chuckles behind his hand, looking terrifically shy. Brett grinned cheerfully at the guy and whispered something to him, which made him smile and seemed to relax his defenses.

Brett had always been good with shy people.

After a few drinks, the group as a whole grew more boisterous, but Brett grew quieter. He seemed content to listen to other people speak as he leaned back casually with a crooked smile and a telling flush to his smooth cheeks, his shoulder just bumping up against that of the soloist. Occasionally, he would wave his strangely petite hands in the air to illustrate a point. Perhaps emboldened by the alcohol, the shy soloist reached out and caught Brett’s hand midair. Brett smiled knowingly and let the other man grasp his slender fingers without protest. He rested his head against the soloist's shoulders.

Eddy turned to Irene. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we head out?”

Irene said sure with what sounded like relief. Eddy knew then that that a relationship between them would never work out. To preempt any doubt on her end, he bid goodbye to her when the taxi came and said he’d see her on Monday. She seemed relieved about that too.

*

After that night, Eddy grew busy with work again and no longer had time to think about the breakup or to feel depressingly alone.

Though if he were honest, there was another reason.

Somehow or other, Eddy had begun to think that he had a friend in Brett Yang. It’s true that they never actually met and certainly never spoke, so perhaps Eddy was just slowly going crazy, but Brett had become ingrained in his mind nonetheless.

It was Brett’s voice that greeted him first thing in the morning, a voice that wasn’t quite what he remembered but that was nice to listen to and that made Eddy laugh. It grew familiar and supplanted the old one of Eddy’s memories.

Occasionally, when Eddy had a rare free evening, he would attend a concert by himself and, afterwards, would sit at the bar with his glass of whisky, waiting for Brett to appear.

Brett always did appear, even if his companions changed. The Taiwanese soloist, for example, was never seen again. Anyway, it hardly mattered who he came with. Brett was always the most relaxed, the one who did the most talking in the beginning, the one who invoked the most smiles and laughter.

It had always been that way, hadn’t it? Brett had a way of making you feel comfortable, and you would like him for that, and you would want him to like you too.

A couple of glasses in and Brett would begin to lean sideways. He’d wrap his arm around a girl maybe, or, just as often, crumple into some guy’s lap and let himself be held. Perhaps he craved physical contact. Perhaps he was just drunk.

Eddy observed all this quietly, unobtrusively, like the spectator of a reality show. The next morning, he’d turn on the radio with a smile. Listening to Brett’s upbeat morning voice, you’d never think he’d drank all night, but Eddy knew better and that amused him.

Like the spectator of a reality show, he developed the illusion that he knew Brett, even Brett’s dirty little secrets, so Brett had become a friend of sorts. Of course, as a matter of fact, he didn’t know Brett at all anymore.

*

That changed.

It was Eddy’s fourth time at the bar, late on a warm Thursday night. He took his usual seat and, for the most part, stared at the window into the empty street as he took slow sips at his drink. But every so often, he allowed himself to steal a look at the adjacent table of chattering musicians.

Brett didn’t give Eddy a chance to escape. He turned sharply and suddenly and asked, with a teasing lilt to his voice, “What are you looking at?” His dark eyes were half-lidded and his lips curved into a light smirk.

Eddy started and almost spilled his drink. The chatter at Brett’s table died down and everyone stared. The whole scene was more nerve wracking than when Eddy interviewed for his job and, for a split second, he truly felt that the best course of action would be to crawl under the table. Indeed, had he been any younger, he might have done just that, or at least stammered incoherently, red with shame.

Still, he was a grown man now—had dealt with his fair share of humiliating incidences and difficult patients--and had learned to hide a little bit of that. After a moment or two of startled silence, he cleared his throat and said in what he hoped was a calm voice, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

“But I’ve seen you here before. Staring at me,” said Brett, the smirk growing more pronounced.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, willing away the embarrassment.

“No? Then what’s it like?”

There was no response to that wouldn’t make him sound like a terrible stalker. But Eddy’s learned that the best lie was always the one that held a kernel of truth, so he admitted, “To be honest, and I’m a little bit embarrassed, but I’m your fan.”

Brett blinked at him in surprise, clearly not expecting that.

“I listen to your classical radio show in the mornings and looked you up. And then my friend brought me to a concert and afterwards, I happened to see you here, and it was exciting, in a weird way. I guess I was just . . . it’s cool to see someone that you listen to every day in person, you know?”

The whole spiel sounded farfetched even to his own ears, even if it was more or less true. The bassoonist sitting one seat over must have thought the same, because he started to say, “Now wait a minute . . .” But Brett cut him off and turned to his friends with patent excitement. “See, I told you he wasn’t a creep.”

The bassoonist made a face. “I don’t see how this shows he’s not a creep—”

“ _And_ , this clearly proves that I’m not the failure of a host that you guys say I am. I have _fans_.”

One of the young women—a flautist, perhaps—laughed. “I can’t see how this is possible. You literally mispronounce everything.”

Brett ignored that too and turned back to Eddy. His eyes were now fully open and sparkled in the dim light of the bar. “You should’ve just said so sooner. I’m super chill, you know. Do you want an autograph? What’s your name?”

The torrent of words overwhelmed Eddy. He studied Brett's face carefully, wondering if the other man was just playing along like he always did in that way he was so good at, or if he was too drunk to care, or if he really did just desperately need validation. Although, what did it really matter? Brett had let him off the hook. Had even given him the opening he’d been subconsciously looking for.

“Eddy Chen. Eddy, with a y.”

“Eddy. Got it. And where should I sign? Or would you like a photo instead? You can tag me on Instagram!”

Brett’s voice bubbled over with excitement, but betrayed no recognition. Of course. He had no real reason to remember Eddy.

“A photograph then,” Eddy said gently, rising from his seat.

They stood side by side, Brett pressing against him just slightly with his small, warm body that smelled like gin, wearing a big grin and with his fingers spread into a cheesy v-sign. Eddy didn’t move away. It had been awhile since he’d had physical contact with another person. 

The photo would be a commemoration, he thought, for surely, he couldn't come back anymore, now that Brett's discovered him. Moreover, now that he knew Brett had forgotten him, he could no longer pretend that they were anything more than strangers. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Hi, I’m Eddy, with a y.”

That was how Eddy first introduced himself to Brett. It was the beginning of freshman year, probably. Certainly before he had his growth spurt, and before he started exercising, and before he had developed any sense of style. He wore a questionable mullet and shirts his mum picked up in bulk from Costco. He was 14 and his biggest goal in life—a goal that had somehow become unshakeable and imperative—was to gain admission to a good medical school. After school advanced maths tutoring with Mr. Huang was one step towards that goal. He hadn’t known Brett would be there.

Brett stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Long enough for Eddy to regret his introduction, which he didn’t usually volunteer. He wanted to retract the words. The classroom was empty except for the two of them; he could always pretend it never happened.

But then Brett smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Brett, with two t’s.”

Eddy wondered if Brett was teasing him. He laughed uncertainly. “I know. I mean, not to be weird. I just, because I also play the violin and I’m in orchestra and—”

He was interrupted by Andrew, who bolted in and sank into the empty seat on the other side of Brett. “Yo. You wouldn’t believe what happened. I almost _died_.”

“Almost?” Brett quipped. “That’s too bad.”

Andrew slugged Brett on the shoulder and they both laughed. Eddy watched them awkwardly.

“So what happened was . . .”

Andrew’s story was long and boring. Eddy hadn’t yet learned the art of inserting himself into the conversation, so he took out his pencil case and his papers and pretended that he wasn’t listening and that he had his own things to do. More people flowed in as Andrew talked. The outgoing kids gravitated towards Brett as a matter of course, as if he were a magnet, forming a half circle around him that just managed to exclude Eddy. They refused to disperse until Mr. Huang commenced with class.

Eddy was usually good at paying attention, but that day, he was distracted. From the corner of his eye, he could just see Brett staring at the board with a look that walked the line between confusion and drowsiness. Eddy wanted to talk to Brett, was dying to tell Brett his secret. That, about a month ago, he’d watched Brett perform Ravel’s _Tzigane_ as first prize winner of some competition or other and he’d loved the performance so much that, for weeks after, he’d woken up at five in the morning to practice so that he could sound as good as Brett one day, and not because it was just another tedious step towards med school, as he’d always viewed the violin before. 

Eddy didn’t know how to voice these thoughts without sounding like a sucker, so he rehearsed different iterations in his head. _I really enjoyed your performance._ Or, _I really liked your interpretation of Ravel, particularly the force with which you . . ._ Or, _can you give me some tips on left hand pizz . . ._

But in the end he didn’t get a chance to say any of these things, because as soon as class ended, Suzy yelled, “Brett, should we go try the new Gong Cha that opened?”

Brett’s eyes lit up and he nodded vigorously. Up front, Mr. Huang _tsk-ed_ with faux frustration and said that Brett didn’t need more bubble tea. “Sugar’s bad for the brain. Given Brett’s math grades, what he really needs is to eat more fish.”

The class burst into laughter at this most Asian pronouncement, which only grew in volume as Brett sputtered and protested. But Eddy could see that Brett didn’t really mind. He could play along when teased, was likable in that way.

As the laughter died down, Brett turned to Eddy. “What were you saying? Something about the violin. You play the violin? ”

“Oh, uh . . .” But Suzy and Hannah had walked over and were staring at him impatiently. “No, nothing. I just . . . yeah, I play the violin. And I just joined orchestra. That’s all.”

“That’s cool. I play too.” He laughed. “That’s redundant. I guess you knew that. Anyway, do you want to come to Gong Cha with us?” He surprised Eddy with his unexpected sincerity.

“Thanks—but I—my mum is coming to pick me up, actually, so . . .”

“Ah. Okay. Well, see you in orchestra, then?”

“Yeah, sure, see you . . .”

*

From the back seat of his mother’s car, he watched Brett walk away with his group of friends. To Eddy, they looked like teens from the movies, happy and carefree in an unreal way, glowing under the hot Australian sun and off to do fun things that Eddy could only imagine.

His mum was watching them too. “That’s Brett Yang, right? The one who won the competition? Well. Not to nag, but if you’d practiced just a little more like I said, I’m sure you could have also—”

“Mum, stop,” Eddy interrupted with a tired exhale.

His mum frowned. “What, I can’t even talk to my own son anymore? You know, his mum brags about him all the time now, it’s really getting ridiculous. Her son this, her son that. You don’t see me bragging about you winning that math competition, do you? Some people are really just insufferable.” She peered at Eddy through the rearview mirror. “How’s Mr. Huang? Should we also sign up for . . .”

Eddy had stopped listening. He was watching Suzy link her arm through Brett’s as she giggled over something or other. Brett reached over mussed her hair with an impish smile.

His mum must have been watching too, because she clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Flirting at such a young age. Can’t end well. What will their parents think? Now Eddy Chen, you listen to me and stay away from girls like that . . .”

Eddy wanted to laugh. How funny mothers can be. As if a girl like Suzy that would approach him.

*

If Eddy was a freshman at that time, then Brett must have been a sophomore. Physically speaking, he couldn’t have been any more impressive than Eddy was. He had a small and scrawny build back then (still did, for that matter), with the added disadvantage of glasses, braces, and a mushroom cut. The term resting bitch face hadn’t yet caught on, but he had that too. And most importantly, at the end of the day, he was an unapologetic orch dork.

Somehow, though, people liked Brett.

Eddy watched him a lot in those days and wondered why. Part of it had to have been that Brett was a talented violinist, and people gravitated towards talent. But Brett was also naturally outgoing in a way that Eddy wasn’t, could talk to all sorts of people without Eddy’s self-conscious awkwardness. And he had pretty grades and was a pretty good kid so the teachers liked him, but he wasn’t the teacher’s pet, so other kids liked him too.

And then, there was the fact that Brett knew how to dole out small acts of kindness that couldn’t have cost him much, but that made you feel as if he cared, or that you meant something to him.

Once, Eddy had showed up later than usual to Mr. Huang’s class and Suzy had taken his seat next to Brett, leaving him to hover awkwardly by the door, wondering what to do. Just when he’d resigned himself to sitting in the back, Brett spotted him and whispered something to Suzy. She looked Eddy’s way and rolled her eyes, but cleared the desk and moved to her usual place.

“Thanks,” Eddy had murmured shyly to Brett afterwards.

Brett had grinned and shrugged. “No worries. Figured you liked the seat, since you sit here every time. I usually save it for you, but you came so late that I wasn’t sure if you were coming at all.”

In orchestra too, Brett always said hi to him when he passed by, even though Eddy was an uncool freshman and played with the second violinists. Brett wasn’t concertmaster yet, but he was up there in the firsts. He could have ignored Eddy just as easily. Most people did.

Eddy didn’t think he said anything of substance to Brett that whole first year of high school. He certainly didn’t end up gushing to him about how much he admired Brett’s _Tzigane_. But he remembered smiling stupidly and automatically whenever Brett happened to acknowledge him, as if that really mattered.

Perhaps it did really matter to him, back then, to be acknowledged by someone as perfect and well-liked as Brett.

It wasn't until much later that he realized Brett was hardly as perfect as he let on.

* * *

Eddy stopped attending concerts or going to the bar. He even stopped listening to the radio, though that had been difficult at first. Still, Eddy was good at being cruel to himself in the name of discipline. It was a bit childish, but he thought, if Brett could forget him, then he could certainly forget Brett.

He didn’t expect to see Brett again a few weeks later.

They met in the hospital lobby on a quiet Tuesday afternoon. Eddy spotted Brett first, walking towards him in an absentminded sort of way. He was shocked by the changes. Under the florescent ceiling lights, Brett had become a shadow of his usual self, that merry elegant violinist with the quick smile and the flushed cheeks. His face now was pale and wan, and his eyes were ringed with dark circles that even his thick lenses couldn’t hide. He had grown a bit of a stubble and his hair looked like it could use a wash. The crumpled tee and sandals didn’t help.

Eddy remained rooted in place as Brett walked closer. There was a vacant expression in the smaller man’s face, as if his thoughts were far away. For a second, Eddy thought Brett might miss him entirely. But the next second, their eyes met. 

“It’s you,” said Brett, his bloodless lips curving into a tired but genuine smile. “Eddy, right?”

“Yes. Hello again,” Eddy replied politely, concealing his surprise at the fact that Brett had remembered.

“Yes, hi. What are you doing here—ah, you’re a doctor?”

“A resident, actually.”

“Close enough. That’s pretty impressive. I could never . . .”

Eddy shrugged off the compliment. “And you . . .what brings you here?”

“Just, you know, regular check-up, that sort of thing. Anyway, I haven’t seen you around lately.”

“It’s been a bit busy,” Eddy explained with a vague wave of his hand.

“Sure, of course.” Brett nodded sympathetically, then perked up. “But you did listen to my program, right? I did a sort of shout out to you the other week?”

“You did? Actually, sorry, I . . . I haven’t, lately. I haven’t had time.”

“Ah.” Brett’s eyes dimmed in disappointment, which made Eddy feel bad about the whole thing. Brett hadn’t really done anything wrong, after all.

“B-but I-Tomorrow, I’ll definitely . . .”

Eddy’s panic elicited a small laugh from Brett. “Dude, it’s fine. I totally get it.”

There was a short pause. Eddy began to think about ways to extricate himself from the encounter; his afternoon coffee run was already taking too long and the silence was beginning to grow awkward.

“Hey, do you want to get dinner?” Brett asked suddenly.

Eddy blinked. “Dinner?” he repeated dumbly.

“Yeah. Think of it as . . . fan service? I mean, only if you’re free, obviously.” His voice trailed off and he rubbed his nose in what seemed like embarrassment.

But there was something else too, thought Eddy. There was worried look to his eyes, anxious almost, though he was obviously trying to hide it. Eddy had seen that look before, on other patients trying to run away from their worst thoughts.

“Never mind," Brett said with another small laugh. "That was rude of me. You must be busy. A doctor. I just thought . . .”

“I probably won’t be done until eight. Would that be too late?”

Brett looked at him in surprise, then quickly shook his head. “That’s fine! Where should we . . . is there anywhere . . .”

Eddy took out his phone. “Just give your number,” he said gently.“We can figure it out over text. Or you can pick a place, and I’ll meet you there. How’s that sound?”

Brett smiled gratefully. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do that.”

*

After Brett left, Eddy walked over and greeted the receptionist, a nice elderly lady with a soft spot for young residents. He let her rattle on about the weather and her husband and the bad food in the cafeteria before asking, “That guy who just walked out, Brett Yang. Do you know who he came to see?”

“Him?” She clicked through her records. “Yang . . . Yang . . . ah, yes. Dr. Roth. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering. Thanks, Jill.”

Eddy bid her goodbye and began walking towards his office with slow, plodding steps. Of course, he’d known it wasn’t a routine check-up; people didn’t come here for that sort of thing.

But a nerve specialist?

He paused in his steps hesitantly; then, having made up his mind, turned back around to find his way to Dr. Roth’s office.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's fairly obvious but, given sensitivities in the fandom, I did want to clarify that the story isn't related to inspired by Brett's recent hospital visit. I was sad to hear that and hope he's feeling better ;_; I'm also happy to see Eddy posting ugly-angle instg stories, as it seems to suggest Brett's ok (or that Eddy's losing his mind). 
> 
> Anyway, this isn't really a story about physical illnesses and, tags notwithstanding, is not meant to be sad either. (I couldn't actually make these two potatoes suffer.) Ok that's all.

Brett chose a popular ramen place near the hospital. Being late a Tuesday evening, it was busy but not so packed, and the indistinguishable chatter of other diners created the pleasant buzz of white noise. The open doors let in gusts of warm sea air and, seated across from Brett at a small wooden table under the pale yellow lights, Eddy almost felt comfortable.

Brett looked livelier than he did in the afternoon, having recovered some color to his face. If he was worried or scared, he hid that well. He'd also apparently showered and put on a clean shirt, though it was still wrinkled at the neckline, as if it had been put in the wash one too many times but its owner obstinately refused to throw it away. He had been scrutinizing the menu for some time with an almost comical intensity, his lips pursed and his eyes darting up and down in concentration.

Eddy, meanwhile, settled quickly on the chicken bowl.

After the server left them, Eddy felt suddenly uneasy. Now was the worst part of a meal: the lull before the food came. They'd have to fill it with conversation, but what did they have to talk about, when they haven't talked for so long? And more importantly, who did he want to be, now that he was meeting Brett again? He could reinvent himself, to be someone—anyone—other than the awkward high-schooler he once was.

If only Brett would give him the chance. 

"So, this afternoon, I spoke to—" Eddy began to say, but Brett interrupted with an innocuous, "But why chicken?" He propped his head on one hand and tilted to the side just so. "The ramen here is better. That's what it's famous for."

"Oh. I just thought the chicken might be healthier. Some protein, at least, and if you don't eat the rice, it's not too bad."

"Healthy. At a ramen restaurant? Dude. Could've just told me you wanted salad."

"No—I didn't mean that. I'm totally fine with this. It's just that I eat out a lot, so I try to minimize the impact by choosing the least worst option, if that makes sense. It's become something of a habit."

"Least worst option, huh," Brett mulled over this for a second or two. "I guess you _would_ say that. I'd almost forgotten what a goody two-shoes you were."

"Sorry?"

And that's when Brett's eyes glittered with a sudden shrewdness. "Or did you think I'd forgotten you?"

Eddy just looked at him, the blood rushing to his head and pounding through his brain.

Brett continued on with an amused little smile, "I didn't forget you, you know, I just didn't recognize you. You look different now, especially in your suit. And you permed your hair, didn't you? It looks nice. But wouldn't have pegged you as the type back then. You even sound different—you used to be kind of jumpy before, did you know that? So anyway, I just didn't connect you with the guy from high school. But the more I thought about you afterwards, the more familiar you seemed. I just knew that I'd seen you before _somewhere_. But there are a million Eddy Chen's and Edwards Chen's online, so it wasn't until I saw you at the hospital and looked you up that I confirmed my hunches. You _are_ the Eddy Chen I used to know from high school." He broke apart his chopsticks and fiddled with the wrapping. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Eddy said nothing. Brett gave him a playful glare. "You're surprised? You underestimate me, Chen. I may not have been as good at math as you were, but I'm not totally brain dead, either."

Eddy parted his lips a few times, but couldn't come up with anything better than, "I thought you'd forgotten."

"I wouldn't forget you," said Brett.

It was probably just a turn of phrase. Probably didn't mean a thing, Eddy thought to himself, just Brett being Brett, knowing what to say and when. And somehow, thinking that made it easier. Eddy was 28; he knew how to say things now too, without stammering and blushing like an idiot. 

"I also remembered you," he said. "You look the same."

Brett stared at him, then, to Eddy's continued surprise, groaned.

" _Fuck_. Don't say that." He ran a hand through his messy hair. "Everyone always says that."

"Is that bad?"

"What do you think? I look at you, and I see successful adult doctor person. Me, though? I'm turning thirty next year, and you—and everyone else—keep telling me I look the same as I did in high school. How do you think I feel?"

Eddy shrugged, but couldn't suppress a soft laugh. Brett was squishing his pliable face in mock-despair. He didn't look a day older than 20.

"Anyway, why didn't you just tell me? Just come up and say you knew me from high school, instead of staring at me from the side. And you didn't think I'd seriously buy the fan thing, did you? All my friends think you're a weird stalker."

Eddy felt a touch embarrassed here, but tried to play it cool. "I don't know. Just thought it'd be awkward, I guess, if you didn't recognize me. Which you didn't. Besides," he insisted quite earnestly, "I _am_ a fan. I listened to you every day, before I got busy."

"If you say so. No one else is, just so you know. The radio keeps getting complaints about me. I'm apparently both incompetent and inappropriate." Eddy's stifled chuckle drew a swift side-eye from Brett. "A true fan wouldn't laugh at that. Anyway, it's fine. I'm only substituting for my uni friend who's on paternity leave, if you can believe it. He told me the more incompetent I am the better, so they'll take him back after he's done with the baby."

"Ah, okay. That makes more sense. Although," Eddy pointed out lightly, "I don't think you can be done with a baby."

"You know what I mean. But, isn't it crazy that he has a kid now? He's our age. Who even gets married before they're thirty these days? I couldn't imagine . . ."

Brett continued speaking, jumping from his friend to other inconsequential topics. And Eddy began to relax as he listened, realizing that Brett wouldn't give him a hard time today, either. Brett would speak to him as if they were old friends, rather than new strangers.

The server brought out their food as they chatted. Eddy studied his chicken with a teensy bit of disappointment; it did look subpar compared to the ramen. And it didn't help that Brett slurped his noodles with evident relish, chewing each bite carefully and smiling subconsciously with pleasure. When was the last time Eddy ate something really good, that made him smile? He couldn't say. Probably before the break-up? There wasn't any occasion for particularly good food, when you're busy and by yourself.

"So what have you been up to?" Brett asked in between bites. "It's been, what, ten years since I last saw you?"

Ten years is a long time, and they must both have been up to a lot. But Eddy learned that they were also both adept at reducing years to nothing. University-med school-residency for Eddy; conservatory-fellowship-orchestra for Brett. They didn't highlight the happy moments or lament over the sad ones, they didn't talk about the people who had entered their lives, or the relationships that had come and gone. They didn't know each other well enough for that.

Brett led the conversation in a scattered sort of way, filled what would have been small, awkward silences with words that always came out half-jokingly. When he ran out of things to say, he defaulted to memories from high school. Do you remember Ms. So-and-so; she retired last year? Were you in class that one time this happened? Michael, remember him? He's the CEO of such-and-such company now, but he literally shit his pants in orchestra, do you remember? Mr. Huang, you must remember Mr. Huang. I saw him couple of months ago, and he's bald now. Must be all that math.

Eddy remembered Mr. Huang, but not the other things. High school felt like an eternity ago. A tedious four-year nightmare. He had tried to shed those memories the minute he left for college. But he listened patiently now, more amused than anything else by the way Brett recounted the stories.

"Sometimes, I really miss those days," Brett said wistfully as their meal came towards an end. "Life was so much more fun back then, don't you think? No bills, no responsibilities, and you had all the time in the world to figure things out."

Did Eddy miss those days? It would have been easy enough to agree and move on, but Eddy shook his head. "To be honest, I think I prefer now, actually. High school was . . . not that fun. For me, at least."

Brett studied him curiously. "But it can't be fun now, either? Don't you have to work all the time? Isn't that stressful?"

"Yes, but. Well, I don't know how to explain it, but I feel that at least I know myself better now, and I like myself more."

Eddy hadn't intended to say that, hadn't even thought about it really, but it had somehow slipped out in a moment of truth. Brett was staring at him without blinking. Perhaps he was surprised by Eddy's unexpected candor, or perhaps he just couldn't process what Eddy meant. After all, high school was a different experience for him. 

"Huh," he said. "Okay. Can I try your chicken?"

And that was that. At Eddy's confused nod, he helped himself to a piece of chicken and made a disgruntled face.

"You really should try the ramen. It's much better," was his conclusion. He twirled a few strands onto his spoon and held it out towards Eddy. "Here, ah~"

The move was so unexpected that Eddy flinched out of reflex. He saw that Brett was smiling again with just a hint of mischief in his eyes. It reminded Eddy of the expression Brett wore when he had one too many drinks and began flirting with whoever was near at hand. But Brett was sober now. And Brett wouldn't flirt with him. Would he? Eddy felt his cheeks grow hot.

"I—"

"Just kidding." Brett laughed and retracted his spoon "But next time, you should actually try the ramen. The least worst option usually just means it's not healthy or delicious, so you might as well not eat it."

*

"That was fun," said Brett. "Thanks for hanging out."

"Yeah, you too. Do you need a ride or anything?"

"Nah. The train takes me straight home."

"All right. Get home safe."

"Yep. . . . "

They were standing outside the restaurant, awkwardly saying goodbye. Eddy braced himself for the routine and inevitable _we should hang out more often_ or _let's do it again_ _some time_ , before they go their separate ways and never see each other again.

But what Brett actually said was, "Hey, are you free Saturday night?"

"This Saturday?" Eddy asked, surprised.

"Yeah. Do you remember Andrew? He's just opened a rooftop bar. It's pretty close to here, actually. A few of us from high school are going to go check it out. I know you weren't in my year, but you might know some of them. And it sounds like you don't know many people in Sydney yet, so I thought, if you have time . . . ."

Brett looked down as he said this, with his hands stuffed in his jean pockets and his hair falling over his eyes. If Eddy didn't know better, he'd almost think Brett looked shy.

Maybe that's why he said, "Okay. Yeah. Sure."

He almost regretted it, except Brett looked up again with a happy grin, and the regret dissipated. "Cool. I'll text you the place. See you Saturday."

*

Eddy slept surprisingly well that night, and when he woke up, he felt a mild sense of excitement that was almost foreign. For the first time in a long time, he had plans outside of work, something to look forward to, even if the plans were only to see people that he barely remembered and didn't particularly like back in the day.

He turned on the radio again when he got into his car. After the last few notes of Debussy's _Reverie_ finished playing, he was again listening to Brett's now-familiar voice.

"As we continue with French music from the early 20th century this morning, up next is Ravel's _Tzigane_ , which happens to be one of my favorite pieces, and the favorite piece of one of my friends. Eddy, if you're listening, this one's for you."

Eddy let out a laugh of disbelief. Did Brett think he was hosting the pop station? He was going to receive complaints again, no doubt. Still, Eddy appreciated the gesture and wore a smile as he listened to the familiar dissonance at the heart of Ravel. 

It was only as he neared the hospital that he began thinking about what he and Brett had not discussed. What he had meant to tell Brett was that he'd spoken to Dr. Roth the previous afternoon, though it wasn't much of a conversation at all. The elderly doctor had stared at him in confusion for a good three minutes before he finally understood that Eddy was a resident from the cardiology department.

Eddy had said, "I think you just saw my friend, Brett Yang, just now? I just wanted to—you know, if there's anything I can help with—"

"What can you help with?" Dr. Roth asked him blankly. "You're in cardiology. Anyway, the results aren't in yet, and even if they were, I couldn't discuss with you. You know that."

But perhaps taking pity on Eddy, he added more kindly, "Just tell your friend to sit tight. No reason to scare yourselves unnecessarily. Everyone always thinks the worst is going to happen, but it usually doesn't."

He had intended to tell that to Brett at dinner, before Brett interrupted him. Eddy hadn't seen an opening to introduce the subject after that and, anyway, Brett had looked like he was doing okay. He sounded like it too. Although, if there was one thing Eddy knew about Brett that others perhaps didn't, it was that Brett was a master at hiding these things. He could smile and laugh and win violin competitions, and you would never know that anything was wrong at all. 


	5. Chapter 5

“You seem jittery,” said Irene with a pointed look at Eddy’s leg. He smiled apologetically and forced himself to stop shaking. She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Do you have to be like this? It’s just a high school reunion.”

“I know. I’m fine. I just haven’t seen these people for a long time . . .”

“Just smile and be pleasant. Drink until you stop feeling awkward. It’ll be fine.” Apparently tired of the topic, she turned back to the mountain of patient records that she needed to update. As an afterthought, she added, “But let me know if you see any eligible guys.”

For whatever reason, Brett’s face flashed across Eddy’s mind. He quickly shook his head. “I’m not sure there will be . . .”

Irene sighed. “Probably not. The sad thing is, the most eligible bachelor there will probably be you. Yes, you, don’t look so surprised. You’re impossible to talk to, but you’re a doctor, and tall enough, and not a crazy person, so that puts you head and shoulders above the average guy on tinder. It’s a low bar, trust me.”

“ . . . Thanks?”

“It wasn’t really a compliment.”

*

Eddy dawdled at the hospital until well after dark, so by the time he got there, a good number of people had already gathered—Brett, certainly, plus a whole host of faces that were at once familiar and foreign. They welcomed him into the fold with that sort of forced friendliness common to adults meeting for the first time. Or re-meeting, as was the case here. Eddy accepted a bottle of beer and sat gingerly next to Brett on a brand new wicker couch that was chic but not too comfortable. He could see even through the darkness that Brett was already glowing red in the face.

It was a nice place, Eddy thought, modern and trendy. You could just see the outlines of the harbor, and the orange glow of the opera house reflecting upon the water. A perfect place for a mild, cloudless night like this one.

They were talking about Suzy’s asshole of a boss who kept expecting her to respond to emails at two in the morning. Eddy listened mutely as they spoke, sipping his beer and feeling as out of place as ever. He realized then that the only thing worse than being alone by yourself, was to be alone in a crowd. He felt like he should say something—anything—mostly to prove that he _could_ say something and wasn't just an awkward hanger-on. But he didn’t know what.

As Eddy slowly groped for the right words, Michael said, “I don’t know why you complain so much. All bankers work those hours. That’s what bankers do.” He was the guy who’d shat his pants in high school orchestra and who was now a CEO of some start-up that no one had ever heard of. He seemed to be doing well though, if his watch was anything to go by. “That’s why you make the big bucks,” he insisted. Suzy glowered at him and said, “Capitalism is inhumane. We should change the system.” Michael remained unmoved. “Then quit,” he said. “No one’s holding a gun to your head.”

There was a momentary lull in the conversation as Suzy glared at Michael. No one seemed to know what to say. In the tense silence that followed, Andrew, who was sitting to the other side of Brett, suddenly turned his attention on Eddy.

“Edward, my man. Good to see you again. It’s been so long.”

Eddy’s heart jumped, which he just managed to hide behind a polite smile. “It has been, hasn’t it? Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks, dude. You know, when Brett said you were coming, I almost couldn’t believe it. I was like, _that_ Eddy Chen? Because, you know, you didn’t seem like you’d ever go to a bar. Or like, hang out with us. I don’t think you even talked to us back then. Too cool for us, ha.”

Eddy glanced at him in surprise.

A girl who had been in Eddy’s year but whose name he’d forgotten jumped in and said, “I thought so too! Like, we all thought you hated us or something, or you were too smart or whatever. I mean, you’re obviously fine now. But back then, you wouldn’t smile like you do now, and you’d literally like sit there and do math homework instead of talk to any of us. You know? It was so weird.”

“Sorry . . . I didn’t know—”

“I mean, I get it now, you were probably just shy. But then it was also weird, because like, you talked to Brett. Of all people, _Brett_ ,” she emphasized, clearly a little drunk. “What’s up with that?”

Eddy stared at her, not sure what to say. Unexpectedly, Suzy recovered herself and burst out laughing. “Oh my god, that’s right. Do you guys remember how Brett used to brag about that too? Like, how Eddy was nice to him but like no one else? Eddy, explain yourself! You wouldn’t say _a word_ to me. What’s so great about Brett?”

“Oh. I don’t remember . . .”

Eddy turned stiffly towards Brett. He was looking at Suzy and wearing one of his cocky, unaffected smirks, “Because I’m awesome. Y’all are just jealous I’m more likeable than you. Isn’t that right, Eddy?”

Suzy tossed a used napkin at Brett’s face in the midst of laughter, which saved Eddy from having to answer. Brett swatted the napkin away and moved on. “By the way, Andrew said he had a special announcement to make. Andy, the floor is yours.”

Like sheep, everyone turned their attention to Andrew. Brett finally looked at Eddy and gave him a small smile.

*

As the evening wore on, people came and left and wandered off to do their own thing and at some point, Eddy found himself alone with Brett on the uncomfortable couch. Brett held a drink his hand (his fourth, based on Eddy’s count) and was staring into the distance with an unfocused look in his eye. A light wind ruffled his his short black fringe and made a mess of it. He looked strangely fragile.

Eddy cleared his throat. “Do you guys meet up often? You seem to still know each other pretty well.”

“Sometimes. We try.” Brett shrugged. “It’s hard though. Everyone’s busy with their own lives and every time we meet up, I feel like we know each other less and less, even though we used to see each other every day.”

“Oh.”

Brett laughed lightly. “It’s fine. That’s just how it is.”

Eddy nodded. “But it’s still nice though, isn’t it, to know people here. I hardly know anyone in Sydney. And I didn’t think it would really matter, but I guess . . . it isn’t like moving to college, you know? You don’t just meet people anymore.” Eddy wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol that loosened his tongue, or just being around Brett. “It’s somehow lonelier.”

“Well, now you know me,” said Brett with a smile. “So that’s something.”

Eddy smiled back, and they shared a moment or two of silence.

So was it true, Eddy wanted to ask, what Suzy had said? But he stopped himself. Because even if it was, even if Eddy had meant something to Brett for a fleeting moment, what did it matter? That had been so long ago.

Instead, he said, “It’s kind of funny seeing everyone again. Everyone still kind of looks and acts the same, even though we're actually almost thirty. It's like we're frozen in time."

"Mm-hmm." 

More hesitantly, Eddy ventured, "You know, I’m surprised you and Suzy didn’t end up dating. Back in school, I always thought you guys had a thing . . .”

Brett turned him with a glimmer of amusement. “Eddy, what? I’m gay.”

“Oh. _Oh._ No, I mean, I knew that. Or I thought you were bi, actually. I mean, not that it matters, because it doesn’t. Sorry, I don’t know—”

Brett laughed in earnest now. “Dude, stop. It’s fine. I guess I’ve been with women too, so you’re not wrong. I just prefer men.”

Eddy fell silent, embarrassed. When Brett’s laughter finally subsided, he asked, “And what about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

“I . . . I was. I met her when I was in med school, actually, so it’s been a few years. We broke up recently, though. Of course, it was totally my fault—she was wonderful—but I fucked things up and now—”

“And now you’re single,” Brett interrupted. He gave Eddy a sidelong gaze that seemed just a touch suggestive, but it was probably Eddy’s imagination. Still, Eddy’s incipient self-pity evaporated and he felt a bit tongue-tied as he stammered, “Y-yeah, I guess so.”

Brett nodded slowly, then took another nonchalant sip of his drink. Eddy stared for a moment at the way Brett’s delicate fingers curved elegantly around the thin stem of the martini glass. A violinist’s fingers.

Eddy’s brows furrowed slightly.

“You know, it’s not good to drink too much at our age,” he prompted gently.

Brett looked up at him in surprise. “Wow. Really, Dr. Chen?”

“Really! We’re no longer as young as we used to be.” He knew he was sounding like a nag, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t drink at all, but—”

“I’ll stop for the night if you finish this for me.”

“What?”

Brett lost his unfocused look and, smiling, stared him straight in the eye. There was a subtle challenge in that smile. Eddy felt a dizzying sense of déjà vu.

_If you smoke this cigarette, I’ll stop._

_I . . . but . . ._

_Just this one. Promise._

_. . . Okay, fine._

“Well, Dr. Chen?”

It was so stupid. Eddy knew that if he waited one more second, Brett would say _just kidding_ , and they could move on and forget about this. What it did matter to Eddy whether Brett drank one more drink or not?

But he reached for the glass anyway and said, “Okay.” Their fingers touched briefly as the glass changed hands. Brett’s fingertips were ice cold.

As the vodka burned its way down, Eddy wondered, what _was_ so great about Brett? What about Brett made him do these stupid things?

Maybe he did it just to see that look on Brett’s face, his droopy eyes widening so much that Eddy could see the sliver of black on his one pupil, and his lips curving into an amused smile full of wonder.

Or maybe there was no real reason at all.

Brett watched him toss back the drink unblinkingly. Then he shook his head with a rueful grin. “You’re still the same, Eddy Chen,” he said softly. “You always . . .”

Behind them, someone must have said or done something funny, because the group burst into loud laughter. Brett’s words scattered in the wind.

“What did you say?” Eddy asked.

“Nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing to escape election anxiety is a thing . . . . D: !!!!!  
> Also Breddy has been cute lately *_* (Haha when are they not.)


	6. Chapter 6

The next time Eddy saw Brett, Brett was spinning around in his office chair and chitchatting with Irene like he owned the place.

“Personally,” he was saying, “I’d at least go on one date with the firefighter. Firefighters are great. They’re fit. And nice people, generally speaking. Wholesome, you know?”

“But with short life spans, on average.”

“Possibly, but look, the guy’s cute. I’m not saying that I’m a huge proponent of shirtless gym selfies on Tinder, but with that kind of body, I guess I’m not opposed. Anyway, just hook up with him first and then decide. That’s what I’d do. Oh hi Eddy, didn’t see you there.”

Eddy continued standing by the door. Perhaps he was hallucinating, and if he just blinked enough times, the mirage would disappear.

“Well, you don’t have to stand there,” said Irene, beckoning him in. “I saw Brett wandering around asking for you, and he said he’s your friend so I brought him here. Is he your friend?”

“Uh . . . yes . . . ?” Could people just wander around in the hospital now?

Brett smiled at him. “I was here for something else, but I thought we could eat lunch together, if you’re free?”

*

They grabbed sandwiches at the cafeteria and ate them on a bench in the courtyard. It was another placid day in Sydney, nice in an uneventful sort of way. A handful of other people were scattered around them, and pigeons bobbed peacefully underfoot looking for crumbs.

But as Brett wound his way through a litany of small talk between bites, Eddy couldn’t help thinking that the pleasant daylight no longer suited him. It washed him out and exposed his exhaustion.

A memory resurfaced in Eddy’s mind—the one of Brett walking to Gong Cha under the hot Brisbane sun, his fearless smile radiant and carefree. Brett Yang belonged under the sun back then, Eddy had felt. But those days were long gone, and that Brett . . . Well, then again, had that Brett ever actually existed? Or had he merely been imagined by Eddy, an image further corrupted by time?

The point is, he had changed. The Brett now seemed to belong under the dark cover of the night, where his wan face could feign a healthy flush and a cheerful grin with the aid of a stiff drink, or five.

They were almost done eating before Brett broached the subject. “I’m actually here to pick up my test results. You know, the ones from when you last ran into me.”

Eddy nodded and waited for him to go on.

“And, what do you know, they say I’m totally fine!” He cracked a smile as he said this, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Unsure what to say, Eddy offered a hesitant, “That’s . . . good, isn’t it?”

“I guess so . . . Yeah, I guess so.” He seemed to be saying it to himself, as much as to Eddy. “You know, it’s just that I can’t help wondering. . . . Meh, never mind. You’re right. Everything should be fine. Anyway, I don’t know why I wanted to tell you that. It’s not important, and I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so I—”

“I don’t mind listening, if you want to talk,” Eddy said quietly. “But only if you want to.”

Brett glanced at him with mild surprise. He tried to smile again. “Thanks, Dr. Chen. It’s just that I just haven’t really told anyone, and I guess I’m tired of . . . It doesn’t really matter. Anyway, you might have already guessed, but it’s my hands.”

Of course it was.

He explained slowly, in a halting sort of way, like it pained him to pull the words out. He said that he felt as if he were starting to lose control of them. For a couple months now. there would be moments in time when his fingers would lose their usual nimbleness and just freeze up or go numb. They might stumble across the strings clumsily as he willed them to move, or shake and take his bow along for the ride, or curl in on themselves and refuse to budge at all.

“Never for long, just a few minutes and they would go back to normal. If I did anything else for a living, I might not even notice, but doing what I do . . . Do you know what it’s like? It’s like, for those few minutes, I would feel like I couldn’t play anymore.”

Eddy shook his head. He had thought it might be something like this, but it still surprised him to hear Brett say it.

He tried to imagine a world where Brett couldn’t play the violin. It was impossible.

With a deprecating chuckle, Brett said, “I thought—hoped, prayed?—that it was just a fluke it would go away after awhile. But it didn’t, and I messed up a few times during rehearsals. I don’t think anyone’s noticed, but each time I would think to myself, what if it doesn’t go away? What if it gets worse? What if I just lose my ability to . . .” He paused here, not quite able to bring himself to say it. “So I started going to the doctor. All sorts of doctors, really—the GP, then some hand specialist, and now a nerve doctor. I just wanted them to tell me what was wrong and fix it, you know? So I can stop thinking about it and live my life again.”

“. . . And they all told you that you were fine?”

Brett nodded, then stared down at his feet, his face devoid of expression. “Well, not fine, just that the test results say there’s nothing really wrong. Dr. Roth says he thinks it’s stress, or something like that. He says that sometimes your body responds in weird ways that you can’t control, like freezing up, and it just takes time to heal. That it’s not uncommon in his younger patients. . . . What do you think? Is that true?”

Here, Brett looked up hopefully. He was trying not to show it, but the hopefulness seeped through anyway. Eddy’s heart clench.

Still, Brett hadn’t sought him out for his pity.

“It is true,” he said, careful to wipe the doubt from his voice. “Although we’ve made a lot of advances in medicine, there’s a lot left unexplained, particularly with respect to stress. Sometimes we just need to give our bodies time to work itself out. A month or two may feel long, but it’s not, really. I can’t speak to your symptoms in particular, but Dr. Roth is an expert in his field. If he says there’s nothing wrong with your nerves, I would trust his judgment.”

“Right. Yeah. I should just trust him, hey?” Brett agreed hesitantly.

“You’ve probably spoken to Dr. Roth about this, but is there . . . have you noticed any trends for when it happens? Does it coincide with . . . Have you been feeling stressed?”

Eddy tried to look into Brett’s eyes as he asked this, as if that might help him ascertain the truth. But in some ways, Brett was still the same. He had already begun to close himself off again, staring into the distance with a tired smile. “Probably. No more than usual, I’d say, but who isn’t stressed, these days? Anyway, so you don’t think I need a second opinion, is what I wanted to ask?”

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Eddy said slowly. “I think Dr. Roth knows his stuff, but sometimes, a second opinion can give peace of mind. Did he give you any suggestions? For example, given the nature of your work, you might consider taking some time off and seeing if that helps—”

Brett’s phone went off abruptly, interrupting Eddy.

“Sorry, my alarm,” Brett explained as he fumbled to turn it off. “I teach on Tuesdays, and wanted to make sure I wasn’t late.”

“You teach now, also?” Eddy asked, frowning lightly.

“Just a few students on my days off. SSO pays okay, but Sydney’s pretty expensive, and besides, it can’t compare to a doctor’s salary,” Brett teased as he crumpled up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it into the trash. “I’ve got to go. Look, thanks for taking the time to talk, Eddy. I appreciate it.”

There it was again, Eddy thought, the lighthearted banter that somehow created a vague feeling of distance.

“Sure, any time. If you need me, just . . . well, you have my number.”

“Thanks. I feel better, now. Actually. I’ll see you around.”

“Take care.”

Did he feel better, Eddy wondered. Brett’s shoulders were still slumped as he walked away, and he looked impossibly small as he receded into the distance. A part of Eddy wanted to reach out and say something more reassuring, or offer to help somehow.

But what could he possibly do for Brett, and on what grounds?

“Is your friend okay?” Irene asked nonchalantly after he walked back to the office. “He looked a little lost. That’s why I brought him here.”

“Thanks. I . . . I don’t know. He should be. I hope so.”

He felt restless though, and couldn’t quite focus that afternoon.

* * *

He first noticed the change in Brett’s expression when Ms. M passed back their calculus exams at the end of class. He wouldn’t ordinarily have seen it—he sat a few rows in front of Brett—but it just so happened that after he stuffed his papers into his bag and walked towards his door, his eyes haphazardly swept over Brett’s face as it transformed.

For just an instant, a second or two, Brett lost his joking smile and pressed his lips into a harsh line as he stared grimly at the sheaf of paper in his hands.

Then it was gone. He spotted Eddy looking his way. A look of dismay flickered in his eyes, but only briefly, and he was back to himself again.

“Bye, Eddy,” he said with a casual grin.

Eddy smiled back uneasily and waved.

Eddy thought about the oddity of the encounter as he meandered slowly past the rows of lockers. Just moments before, Brett had been joking around with the other juniors in the back, hadn’t he? Eddy was sure he had heard him laughing about his own test results. Besides, everyone knew that he was bad at math, so it couldn’t have really mattered to him.

So then why?

*

It was high summer in Brisbane. The days were suffocatingly humid, the heavy air pressing down oppressively until the clouds cracked open and released a violent torrent of rain. One gray day drifted into the next, and it felt like life itself was delineated only by a monotonous countdown to the next exam or the next performance. 

And Brett.

Eddy didn’t go out of his way to watch Brett, but his eyes always drifted subconsciously towards the other boy whenever he was in the room. There was something changing in Brett, Eddy thought. His smile had lost a bit of its ease, and his face drifted into expressionless deadpan increasingly often, as if his thoughts were far away. Sometimes, too, he would let slip his frustration and make a biting remark. He’d apologize, of course, and people would forgive him, but Eddy noticed.

Only in orchestra did Brett seem like his usual self. He was now concertmaster, though he was still only a junior, and continued to surpass himself with every performance. There was a raw emotion to his playing that was new, as if he were channeling all his frustrations into the notes and transforming them into something beautiful.

But off-stage, he would begin to fade again, his eyes a reflection of the turbulent grey skies. 

*

Amidst the endless rain, Eddy finally worked up the courage to say something. It was after rehearsal, and Brett was on his way out. In a fit of last minute panic, Eddy stumbled to his feet and reached out an arm, intending to wave or something. Only somehow, he ended up grabbing Brett loosely by the wrist.

Brett stopped in surprise and stared up at him. He stared back, his mind suddenly blank. When had he surpassed Brett in height, he remembered thinking in an abstracted sort of way. And meanwhile, his hand was still holding onto the bony wrist that was almost too thin for a boy’s.

“Eddy?”

“Sorry!” He released Brett’s wrist abruptly.

Brett let out a bewildered chuckle. “Uh . . . okay. Did you need me for something?”

“N-no. Not really. I just wanted to tell you that I really liked your solo last night, actually, in _Scheherazade_. It was . . . really, really beautiful.” It came out more awkwardly than he would have liked, but he was sincere and didn’t regret saying it. 

Brett continued staring at him, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all.

Then slowly, a small smile spread across his face and his eyes brightened again.

“Thanks, Eddy.”


	7. Chapter 7

Not long after Eddy broke the ice, Brett sauntered over to Eddy’s table at the library and asked, “Can I sit here?”

Here? Here was where Eddy sat in the half hour between morning rehearsals and first period. Here was a small table hidden in the back corner, where no one could see or disturb Eddy.

Brett didn’t belong _here_. Brett belonged on the bench outside with his boisterous group of friends, all of them mired in gossip or copying last minute answers onto their crumpled sheets of homework. Here was too cold, quiet, boring, for someone like Brett.

But Brett didn’t wait for Eddy’s answer—was already sliding into the seat across and unpacking his papers and textbooks. “It’s too loud over there,” he explained to Eddy’s unspoken question. “And I don’t like sitting alone. Anyway, I can leave if I bother you too much. Just let me know.”

Eddy said no, it’s fine, which Brett must have taken as some sort of blanket consent, because he came back again the next day, and the day after that, and soon, Eddy forgot what it was like to sit alone.

*

The issue with Brett, Eddy observed, was that he was impossibly slow. His eyes ran over the same words again and again at snail pace, as if he couldn’t quite process what he was reading.

“This is why I’m destined to be a musician,” he joked once, when he caught Eddy studying him.

But Eddy couldn’t tell if he was joking in earnest, and he wondered—was Brett just distracted easily, or was there a deeper problem?

It was second semester of Year 11 for Brett, that critical time when you tried to cram in everything you could before college apps. Every morning, Brett’s chicken-scratch to-do list seemed to grow ever longer (violin, homework, volunteering, tutoring, competition, national exams), in direct proportion to his growing exhaustion.

“You should try to get some more sleep,” Eddy would prompt gently, when Brett looked particularly messed up, so tired that the rings under his eyes turned purple, like bruises. And Brett would roll his eyes and they would share a small laugh, because they both knew that sleep wasn’t really an option.

“It’s fine,” Brett would say with a careless wave of his hand. “I just need to push through the next few weeks.”

Eddy didn’t know it then, but that was Brett in a nutshell. The harder the obstacle, the harder he pushed.

“Okay. Good luck.” And it didn’t occur to Eddy then to question Brett’s methods. Eddy believed fervently, somehow, that Brett _could_ push through and figure things out, as long as he wanted to.

*

Brett finally caved one morning and fell asleep. One minute, he was highlighting lines in _Hamlet_ , and the next, his head had hit the desk.

Eddy tried not to stare, but wasn’t quite successful. He couldn’t help himself—he’d never seen Brett like _this_ , unmasked and defenseless. With his face nestled peacefully against his forearms, he looked preternaturally soft, as if slumber had smoothed out the sharp edges that shielded him against the world.

Eddy was also a little jealous. God only knew how often Belle made fun of his own sleeping face, with his upturned nostrils and his gaping mouth. But Brett wasn’t like that. Brett slept with his lips pressed lightly together and his face angled just so, perfectly showcasing his perfectly formed nose and the long sweep of his dark lashes. If anything, Eddy thought, sleeping Brett looked almost . . .

“Eddy?”

Eddy’s gaze bounced away.

“Did I sleep for long?” he asked, lowering his glasses and rubbing at his eyes.

“Not long.”

“That’s good. I don’t have enough time to—oh, what’s this?” He picked up the sheets of paper that Eddy had tucked by his side while he was sleeping.

“Just some notes for calc. Made an extra.” The notes contained a set of neatly color-coded graphs and equations. Eddy made sure to omit any unnecessary, distracting words. “I don’t know if it’s helpful.”

“No, this is great! Thanks.”

Eddy nodded shyly and mumbled something incoherent. Brett studied him in silence for a moment or two, his head tilted in thought. A subtle, sly smile then crept onto his face, as if he had discovered something amusing.

*

If before, Brett sat quietly across from Eddy on his best behavior in fear of being pushed away, he now dropped the act entirely. Eddy wouldn’t ask him to leave, they both knew. In fact, for reasons that Eddy couldn’t quite articulate, Eddy would probably put up with a lot from him—the question was just how much. Brett probably felt it too. Maybe that was why he began to test the boundaries.

That was around the time that he began to slide into the seat right next to Eddy, as if it were all too natural. “Help me,” he would demand shamelessly, pushing his homework under Eddy’s nose.

“W-ell . . .” Well, Eddy had his own homework and his own exams and his own impossibly long to-do list.

But Brett would press very close and peer at him hopefully and say please and thank you, so Eddy found that he had no choice but to say, “Um, okay.”

Eddy liked to think he was doing it out of kindness, but that probably wasn’t quite true. The truth was, he liked the way Brett looked up at him with unspoken admiration after he successfully explains a difficult equation. The truth was, for those brief moments, he could forget how socially awkward he was, and would feel smart and useful. And the truth was, when Brett asked him questions and waited for his answers, he could almost believe that he and Brett were, well, friends.

The only thing he would change if he could, just a little, was how close Brett liked to lean into him as they worked through the homework. So close that Eddy could feel the heat emanating from his body, and sniff out the faint scent of cigarettes that lingered on his clothes, a scent that Eddy should have disliked, but only found to be mildly melancholic, like Brett himself.

_You shouldn’t smoke_ , Eddy wanted to say. That, along with, _what do you want from me_? But he wouldn’t actually— _couldn’t_ , really—ask that. Brett was another boy, just like him, so Brett wouldn’t want anything from him, other than answers for the next math quiz. Belle always said he had an overactive imagination. He needed it to stop.

*

“Is it worth it?” Oliver finally asked, after Eddy yawned one too many times.

They were eating outside under the metal awning, and all around them fell the endless, misty rain.

“You’re not _actually_ friends,” Oliver reasoned. “It’s not like he hangs out with you, or even talks to you that much. Your mom’s going to kill you if your grades drop anymore over this.”

Eddy frowned.

“I’m just saying, you don’t owe him notes or help, or anything. Hell, you don’t even make notes for _me_ , and I’ve known you forever.

Eddy was about to respond when, just then, he saw Brett ambling their way towards the school gates. Brett was laughing about something with Andy, but paused to wave hi.

“We’re gonna go get McDonalds. You want anything?”

Eddy shook his head.

“Ok. See you later then.”

As he walked away, Eddy heard him say to Andy, _Eddy’s really really really smart_ , _did you know_? Eddy looked down and smiled a little to himself.

“I can make you notes too, if you want," he said to Oliver.

Oliver sighed and rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I was talking about, you know that.”

*

“I can’t do it,” Brett declared with a groan of frustration. He tossed his flashcards on the table and slumped in his chair in defeat. “Like, I’m fine during prep, but I can’t take do anything under pressure.”

Eddy glanced at him sympathetically, but pointed out, “You can play violin under pressure.”

“Yeah, but, I can’t _math_ or _English_. And if I don’t do well on the regional exam this Saturday, I won’t be playing violin for much longer either.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like I can be a _violinist_ or anything. That’s not a—that’s not a thing. I need to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or whatever. Violin’s taking too much of my time, so if I don’t do well on the exam, I’ll have to stop and focus on getting into college.”

“Oh. But—oh.”

A lame silence hung over them.

“What would you do, if you were me?” Brett asked, suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“If you could, would you choose to be doctor, or musician?”

“Me? I don’t know . . . ”

“Ha. I guess you don’t have to choose. You’re good at academics and at the violin. You can be whatever you want.”

Eddy shook his head quietly.

When you’re young, people ask you what you want to be when you grow up, as if you could choose to be anything. But when you’re fifteen, you knew better. Eddy knew that he, too, had to go to college to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or whatever. Preferably doctor. Certainly not musician.

“Good luck, on Saturday. I hope you do well. I’d rather you not stop playing violin.”

Brett gave him a sidelong glance, then let out a half scoff, half laugh. “Thanks, bro. You and me both.”

*

On Saturday, Eddy snuck out of the house around noon, picked up two cups of bubble tea and loitered patiently outside for the juniors to finish their exam. He felt a bit awkward; it’s not like Brett was expecting him, or needed him to be here. His presence was entirely superfluous, but anyway, here he was.

  
It was April now—autumn was right around the corner, and the sun had finally broken through the overcast skies. Eddy wasn’t superstitious, but it was such a pleasant day that he felt like something good must happen. Brett will be fine, he told himself, though it really wasn’t any of his concern.

Brett was one of the last students to mill out of the building. He looked a little dazed and he surprised Eddy by bypassing his usual group of friends and wandering off by himself. Eddy hesitated briefly, but, having already come this far, decided to follow Brett as he wound his way to back of the school, where everything was still and quiet. 

Eddy stood a few feet back and watched Brett lean against the wall and light a cigarette. He wondered how to introduce his presence.

Brett let out a leisurely exhale before he finally turned in Eddy’s direction and asked, “Are you just going to watch me, or . . . ?”

Eddy blushed in chagrin and walked over. “Just wanted to see how your exam went. Also got you a bubble tea.”

Brett accepted the bubble tea with a smile and took a sip.

“Wow, this tastes so weird if you drink it after smoking,” he said with a grimace.

“Maybe you should stop smoking,” Eddy suggested.

“Ugh, you would say that, you goody two-shoes.” But he dropped the half-smoked cigarette and squashed it with his shoe. “Anyway, I don’t think I did that well, honestly.”

“Oh . . .”

“ _But_ , I gave it some thought, and I decided that it doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to be a soloist, so I might as well do that.”

“A soloist?”

“Yeah,” he said, with a sudden, defensive stubbornness. “You can laugh if you want, but I’m going to music school. I mean, I haven’t told my parents yet, but I’m going to do it.”

He wasn’t looking at Eddy, but Eddy could tell that there was something unshakeable in his demeanor as he said this, and that he’d lost the last traces of frustration and confusion that seemed to haunt him in past few weeks.

“I’m probably not good enough, and I’m definitely not a prodigy, but at least I like it, so I figured I should at least try, and you never know if—”

“I think you’re good enough.”

“Uh. Oh?”

“Yeah. I think I’ve already told you, but I think you’re really good. So anyway, I support you, and I . . . look forward to your concerts?”

Brett stared at him for what felt like a long time after that, as if he were trying to ascertain whether Eddy really meant it. But of course, Eddy did mean it, so in the end, Brett broke into an uncharacteristically shy smile.

“Oh, well, then. Okay. Um. Cool. Thanks.”

*

Eddy conjured these memories again after Brett left the hospital. His fifteen-year-old self must have been proud that day. He had, after all, encouraged a friend to pursue his dreams.

But if he were to re-live that now, would he say the same thing? Or would he consider his words more carefully? What if it turns out that you aren’t good enough to become a soloist? What if you stay a nameless orchestral musician, forever? What if your dream becomes just a job that’s as tedious and tiring as any other job? What if you lose your ability to play the violin altogether? What’s your back-up plan?

Eddy took out his phone and hesitantly began to compose a text to Brett, then stopped and deleted it again. What was there to say? It was too late for regrets. They’d made their choices, and they could only move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't really know how the Australian school system works and it wasn't as easy to google as I thought it would be, so I just modeled it off the US system haha. In other news, when is twoset going to come back with more videos . . . #intenselonging


	8. Chapter 8

Eddy tossed and turned for a long time before he gave in and turned his phone back on. He thought he had gotten over his job anxiety, but apparently not. With the big operation coming up later that week, he found his brain cycling non-stop through everything that might go wrong. It was already 1:30 and he was still staring at the ceiling. So he gave in, and tapped into Instagram for some mindless scrolling.

It was a mistake.

It had been ages since he’d last opened the app, and he’d forgotten that, other than some public accounts and his colleagues, just about everyone he followed was her friend. Some pictures were innocuous enough—selfies with her girlfriends over platters of avocado toast, group shots at a picnic in the park, peace signs and grins while posing with her dog back home . . .

But he kept scrolling, unable to stop, so it was only a matter of time before he saw _that_ picture, the one of the new guy holding her by the waist, the two of them smiling at each other. He studied the photo for awhile, tried to scroll past it, and then scrolled back.

The new guy was, objectively speaking, better looking than him. Better face, more impressive build. They looked perfect together. And most important—she was radiant with happiness. He remembered that he used to hold her that way too, remembered smiling proudly at the camera and thinking, look, _my_ girlfriend. Had she been as happy with him? Where had those pictures gone? He clicked into her profile and ran his eyes carefully through the posts. But they had disappeared. Of course. You don’t keep pictures of your ex.

So four years—erased, deleted and, soon enough, forgotten.

He didn’t have a new relationship, but he should delete the photos too. As a courtesy, or something. He did that, trying to erase the memories along with the photos, until his profile was blissfully blank and he finally slipped into restless slumber.

*

His body protested the next morning, and he went through his tasks feeling numbed and exhausted. It took him a second to realize that the nurse was questioning him.

“You told him he could eat?”

“What?” he asked, still out of it. “Who?”

“Mr. Bund. I was going over the pre-surgery questionnaire with him and he said you told him he could eat.”

Had he? He vaguely recalled saying something like that earlier in the week, but had that been to the guy scheduled for surgery? He had thought . . . _fuck._ A piercing dread ran through him.

“Said he had a big meal. Like a last dinner before surgery, just in case.” The nurse frowned. “Obviously, we can’t have that. We definitely need to reschedule.”

She didn’t yell at him, but he could read between the lines.

“I’m so sorry . . .”

“It’s okay . . . everyone makes mistakes. I mean, better that we found out now than tomorrow, right? Do you think . . . can you tell Janine? I think we can reschedule him for next week.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry again. Totally my fault.”

After the nurse left, he buried his face in his hands and groaned. Everyone made mistakes, yes, but he was supposed to be better than that. He’s supposed to be the best—valedictorian in high school, _summa cum laude_ in college, and, as Janine said, best resident she took on this year. Well, not anymore probably, not after this dumb mistake. And he had been working so hard.

He sat upright again and picked up the phone. No use whining about it—there was no one around to take pity anyway. It was just going to be one of those weeks.

*

Actually, nothing particularly awful happened after that. Janine had barely batted an eye, just gave him a disappointed look and said, well these things happen, be careful next time. Of course these things happen, and of course she’d seen worse over the course of her long career. But that didn’t really soothe Eddy, and he spent the rest of the week in a terrible funk.

The only distraction he had was Brett’s morning radio show, which he listened to now as a matter of habit. Brett had, surprisingly, improved to the point where he sounded halfway professional. He still slipped up every once in awhile though, which sometimes drew a rare chuckle from Eddy.

He wished he could be more like Brett, be totally unbothered by the humiliating mistakes and trudge onwards. He wished he had Brett’s magical ability to say _fuck you_ to the world and push on with whatever he wanted to do. But it was too late for that.

He wondered how Brett was doing. On the radio, you couldn’t hear one trace of that helplessness that coated Brett’s voice when they’d last met at the hospital, so maybe he was fine. Eddy sometimes thought about reaching out to Brett to check if he was actually okay, but always stopped just short of pressing send. Brett would come to him if he needed him, Eddy thought. It was best not to bother him otherwise.

And since Brett didn’t come to him, the connection they’d fostered through their short-lived reunion broke off again and Eddy began to feel as adrift as he had before.

*

Saturday evening, Eddy was counting down the minutes to the end of his shift—to when he could finally bury himself in bed and not think for awhile—when his mother called.

_When were you planning to tell me about the breakup?_

_Well, I never really liked her. Have you found someone new? Why not?_

_Have you at least been eating well? Sleeping well? Did you pack away your winter clothes? Your house was a mess last time I came. That was probably her fault. You need to look after yourself._

_You’re doing well at work, right? It’s hard? You have to work hard when you’re young._

_Should I come by one of these weekends and help you straighten up? I can make some soup for you too. I know you must not be eating well. And you know, there’s this girl that my friend knows, maybe you want to meet her—_

“Mum, I’m fine,” he interrupted. “Now’s not a good time for you to visit. Work’s pretty busy. I have to go.”

After hanging up, Eddy breathed in and out slowly for a few seconds. It’s fine, he told himself. You’ll be fine.

Then, thankfully, his shift ended.

*

Somehow, he found himself at the bar across from the Opera House. It was less a function of seeking out Brett than the simple fact that he didn’t want to be alone, in his stupid apartment, replaying his mum’s words to himself and getting unnecessarily worked up over them. He would have bought tickets to the concert itself, but it was too late, so he ended up at the bar, sitting in his usual spot with his usual drink. If this were any other time, he probably would have tried to think of an excuse for his presence, but being so tired that night, so he sort of just sat there and waited.

At around ten, the musicians showed up as usual and made their way to the table close to Eddy.

Eddy saw right away that Brett wasn’t with them.

The bassoonist from before spotted Eddy first and trotted over with a grin. “We haven’t seen you for awhile,” he said, sounding surprisingly friendly. “I’m David, by the way. Don’t worry, Brett told us that you were high school friends. Weird that you didn’t just tell us, but anyway . . . were you going to meet him here?”

"Uh . . . sort of. Is he coming?”

“Not sure, actually,” David replied with a small grimace. “The conductor held him back for . . . well, there were a few glitches in the performance. He sort of came in at the wrong time. It’s not big a deal.”

Eddy frowned and rose from his seat. “Do you think he’s still there?”

“At the Opera House? Maybe. What are you thinking--”

Eddy wasn’t really thinking, and wasn’t sure what he wanted to achieve, but before he knew it, he had already closed his tab and was walking towards the exit. Brett had opened up to him, and he felt, instinctively, that he should at least try to find Brett and make sure he was okay.

In fact, why hadn’t he tried earlier, he wondered angrily to himself, as he speed-walked, then jogged towards the Opera House. It’s true that he couldn’t have done much for Brett, that was really just an excuse, wasn’t it?

*

He found Brett huddled in a corner of the empty parking lot, a round ball of black under a yellow lamp, looking pitifully small. By then, Eddy had already run through the entire building looking for him and was noticeably out of breath and disheveled. Brett peered up at him with innocent, large eyes, his face full of wonder, and asked, “What the fuck happened to you?”

“I was looking for you! I ran into – Dan? Derek? David? – and he said you were still here.”

“David,” Brett confirmed. “But why were you looking for me?”

“Because—I thought—I don’t know—he said the conductor—is it your hand—are you okay?”

Brett eyed him strangely, then let out a soft laugh. “I am now, I guess,” he murmured.

Before Eddy could ask him what he meant, he heard a loud and insistent _meow_. He realized then that Brett wasn’t alone, but was crouching beside a chubby, long-haired cat and feeding it a can of tuna.

“Oh. You’re just here feeding strays. . . ?”

“What did you think I was doing, crying to myself?” Seeing Eddy’s hesitant expression, Brett quickly added, “Don’t answer that. I would never, and I’m fine. The conductor wasn’t even that mad, just concerned. Anyway, since you’re here, come meet our mascot. His name is _Depawssy_. Get it?”

Eddy responded with a delayed, dry chuckle and plopped down on the sidewalk beside Brett, his short burst of adrenaline giving way to a weeklong exhaustion.

“Knowing you,” he remarked, “I would’ve thought Depussy.”

Brett gasped and covered the cat’s ears. “That’s crude. Depawssy, don’t listen to him.”

The cat pawed his hand away with an impatient hiss and turned back to his food.

“Ungrateful ass,” Brett muttered.

Eddy laughed.

*

They sat there in that parking lot for a bizarrely long time—two defeated grown men under a yellow street lamp, with a cat that didn’t particularly like them—alternating between idle chatter and peaceful silence set to the sound of sea waves lapping against the land. They probably looked really stupid, Eddy in his rumpled suit and Brett in his coattails, but Eddy hadn’t felt so comfortable in long time.

“You might consider taking a break, if your hands are still bothering you.”

“ _Pfft_. And who’s going to pay my bills? Rent ain’t cheap here.”

“That’s true . . .”

“Enough about me. I’m really fine, much better. What are you actually here for, if you didn’t come for the concert?

“I just . . . I don’t know. Had a rough week, I guess, and thought I could unwind at the bar.”

“Didn’t know perfect Dr. Chen could have rough weeks,” Brett teased.

“I told a patient he could eat before surgery, and then we had to reschedule the whole thing.” Eddy hadn’t thought to tell anyone, but it just spilled out of him.

Brett replied leisurely, “Huh. Sounds pretty mellow to me.”

“No, it’s such a rookie mistake. Super embarrassing.”

“Aren’t you a rookie, though? Anyway, is it as embarrassing as spilling a whole glass of ice water over your boss during a client meeting? Because Suzy did that once. Yeah, she was trying to walk around him at the conference table and her hand slipped. Oh, or farting really loud in the middle of a concert during a rest? Because David did that the other day too. ”

“The fuck?” A real laugh bubbled out of Eddy.

Brett smiled at him. “See? Your fuck-up isn’t so bad now, is it?”

“Eh. It’s different though. My fuck-ups could lead to a life or death situation. But nice try. Those were pretty funny.”

Brett rolled his eyes. “Okay, now you’re just bragging.”

Then came a period of silence. Eddy observed Brett quietly from his peripheral vision, and felt a weird sense of déjà vu. It’s like they were sixteen again, sitting at side-by-side at the library, each wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“Sometimes, I do want to go back,” Eddy said wistfully, lost in sudden nostalgia. “To the simple days when all we had to do was practice violin and do homework. And the biggest fuck-up possible was like, getting a bad grade. Also, I kind of just miss playing the violin.”

“That’s not what you said last time,” Brett retorted, side-eyeing him. “You said you liked now better.”

“Ah, you remembered . . .”

“Besides, what’s the point? We can never go back.”

That was true. They could never go back. They were stuck in the present. And in the present—frustrating and exhausting as the present was—there was somehow also a Brett, sitting leisurely beside him, petting a grouchy cat with a content smile. The salty summer air enveloped them in a warm hug, and the lights of Sydney flashed in the background. Time felt like it had come to a halt, or ceased to matter. Eddy stopped thinking about his mistakes, his job, his future for a few blessed moments. There was just him, Brett, here, now.

*

It was close to midnight when Eddy walked Brett to his car, the only one left in the empty lot. He lingered briefly, slightly put out by the fact that the night had come to an end. Brett turned to him with a suggestive smirk.

“Are you waiting for me to invite you home, Dr. Chen?”

“Oh no! I didn’t mean—I’m just—”

“Just kidding. Relax.” Brett’s hand reached for the car door, then paused. “I’m glad you came tonight,” he said in a muffled voice. “I figured you were really busy, so I didn’t want to bother you too much. But for the record, I like hanging out with you so—ugh, I’m no good at this stuff. Anyway, I was going to say that if you actually want to play the violin again and need refresher course, I do give lessons to adults, so . . . I’m available.”

Eddy blinked in surprise.

“But I mean, I know you’re busy, so you’re probably not actually interested. I could work around your schedule, but—ah, forget it.”

“Actually, that’d be cool.”

Brett glanced at him uncertainly.

“Really!” Eddy said, smiling now. “I’d like that. To be taught by the great Brett Yang.”

“Stop it.” But Brett was smiling too.

And by the time Eddy walked back to his own car on the other side of the street, he was beginning to think that the week wasn’t so bad after all.


	9. Chapter 9

Eddy knocked on Brett's door almost two weeks later, after multiple reschedules, when it was already nearing the end of December.

He almost had to cancel again that morning, but at the last minute, was able to convince Irene to switch shifts with him, to which she only agreed on the condition that he go to some blind date event after the lesson, since they were down one guy.

"Fine," he had said. Though he didn't know why any girl would want to date him, when he couldn't even make it to a violin lesson on time. In fact, he now began to understand why his ex insisted on breaking up, and he couldn't envision any new relationship going better, even though he did want one. 

But Irene gave him a look and said, "I would hope that you prioritize dates with a girl above violin lessons."

"Why?" Eddy had asked rather thoughtlessly, to which Irene sort of rolled her eyes and called him hopeless.

It was a hot afternoon—extra hot in the corridor of Brett's stuffy old apartment building—and sweat was beginning to form on his brow as he waited, rocking nervously on his feet. Was it too late to back out? He'd almost chickened out that morning, after he dusted off his violin and realized it felt entirely foreign. 

What exactly had compelled him to yes to Brett?

It must have seemed like a good idea at the time. He still thought about that evening sometimes, when he felt tired or stressed, or when he heard Brett's voice on the radio. He thought about the empty lot, the sound of the waves, the relief of knowing that he wasn't alone in the world. He'd said yes that night because he wanted to see Brett again, and replicate that surreal feeling of contentment.

But with the distance of two weeks, Eddy began to reconsider. He might embarrass himself on the violin. Or worse, he and Brett might feel awkward around each other again, rendering that evening two weeks ago a fluke. 

He could still run back to his car. Or he might say, just kidding, I totally didn't think this through, I actually don't think I can play anymore, can we maybe do something else? Watch a movie? Something that didn't require any effort?

But then Brett opened the door, wearing a crisp white button-up, fitted jeans and a bright smile, and Eddy momentarily forgot what he wanted to say.

"Hi," Brett said. Was it Eddy's imagination, or did Brett's clean-shaven face look strangely radiant?

"H-hi," Eddy stuttered, suddenly self-conscious about his own wrinkled shirt and his greasy blob of hair. He should've at least wiped the sweat. 

Brett's eyes ran over him with a quick sweep, and his smile grew. To his credit though, he kept any commentary to himself and ushered Eddy in. 

"Now, I know what you're thinking," he said, as he watched Eddy set his violin case down and survey the tiny space with quiet skepticism. "But the city is really fucking expensive, and honestly, this place isn't too bad."

Eddy nodded, "Right. No, I totally get it."

And really, he wouldn't have been skeptical at all, except that it was hard to reconcile this space with Brett's home in Brisbane, a gated house twice the size of Eddy's and fully decked out in costly furniture of red and gold that just bordered on gaudy. 

Eddy was surprised when Brett sent him the address. The building was far from city-center, in a part of town that most people Eddy knew would never venture, a grungy area that was a world apart from both the chic cosmopolitanism of downtown Sydney and the bucolic grace of suburban Brisbane.

And while the apartment itself wasn't so awful, it was a tiny studio that fit, just barely, a small Ikea sofa, a bed, a bookshelf, and a tiny table for two, maybe. Not only that, it was on the ground floor, so Brett had shut the blinds to keep out wandering eyes. As collateral damage, he also shut out the cheerful afternoon sunshine, and the place was lit by fluorescent ceiling lights that reminded Eddy of the hospital, or a hotel.

He could tell Brett had tried to clean up before he came. He had made the bed, swiffered the floors, and slotted everything into its rightful place. But there remained a cluttered feel to the studio anyway, probably because it was tiny or possibly also because Brett had stuffed it full of random old things--archaic competition trophies and tattered music books from way back when, outdated anime figurines and a weird stuffed animal in the shape of a dick. So many old things that didn't need to be there. And that black and white floral blanket, didn't he have that back in high school? Good god.

Eddy didn't want to judge, but if he were being honest, he didn't like the apartment much. It was too cramped and dark, more befitting an old lady with ten cats, and not Brett. 

"And even this place," Brett was saying, "I don't know how much longer I'll have it. The old owner sold it to some developers, and they're planning to knock it down soon. Moving's gonna be total pain in the ass."

He handed Eddy a glass of water, which Eddy set gingerly on the small table.

"Do your parents know you're living here?" he asked, not quite able to resist. "I feel like they'd help you find a better place..."

Brett shot him a wilting glare. "You're not seriously suggesting that I ask my parents for help? After I told them I can totally make a living off being a musician? Bro, I'd never live that down. I'd rather die."

"Well, okay. That's very--dramatic. But fair, I guess," Eddy conceded with a laugh.

He took a sip of water and felt his nerves begin to settle. Now that he was face to face with Brett again, falling into the type of banter that was gradually growing familiar, he relaxed, his mind finally coming around to the fact that Brett wasn't some stranger anymore.

And maybe that's why he almost blurted out, "But you know, I actually have a--" He stopped just before he said spare room, thankfully, because to offer Brett his spare room would have been beyond weird and inappropriate. Why had that even occurred to him?

"You have a what?"

"Er. Nothing," Eddy finished lamely. "Just, brain fart. Anyway, don't want to waste your time. Should we get started?"

Brett tilted his head in confusion, but said, "Okay, if you're ready." 

Eddy was emphatically not ready, and it took him all of about three notes to realize this. He hadn't had time to practice at all before he showed up, and had hoped, very irrationally, that it would magically all come back to him. The fifteen years he'd played before had to mean something, right?

But although his brain still half-remembered, his fingers had degenerated with time and could no longer keep up. Even the scales he played for warm-up—scales which he could once glide through without thinking, like second nature—were horrific, bounding out in an uneven, out-of-tune mess.

He made it through D minor before he skid to a stop, mortified. "Okay, I actually haven't touched this for years, so..." he tried to explain to Brett.

He also hadn't failed this hard in years, either, and to fail at the ripe age of 28 was somehow that much more embarrassing than failing as a child. And in front of Brett, of all people. 

"Just don't laugh," he pleaded. But it was too late--Brett's dark eyes were already dancing with mirth.

"It's okay," Brett said, with what appeared to be a valiant attempt at sincerity. "I thought you'd be more prepared, but I guess I've seen worse?"

Eddy groaned and muttered, "That does not make me feel better."

Brett snickered, unable to hold back. "It's fine. I enjoy seeing people fail. Particularly people like you."

"That, also, doesn't make me feel better." 

Despite his words, Brett turned out to be an oddly patient teacher. Oddly, because in Eddy's mind, Brett was always pushing forward with relentless energy and didn't seem like he had the time to wait around for anyone. Eddy would never in a million years have pegged Brett as the kindly encouraging type, and yet he was.

Was it because he usually taught children, Eddy wondered, that he spoke in that surprisingly gentle voice and corrected him with a surprisingly light touch. 

Now try, Brett would suggest casually, after he'd prodded Eddy's posture in place or straightened his wrist or fixed his fingering. Each time Eddy tried again, he sounded a little bit better, as if Brett had performed a small miracle. And no one could be happier about these small miracles than Brett himself, whose eyes would sparkle and who would say unexpected things like, yeah, exactly, perfect, which would somehow spur Eddy to want to do better.

Eddy lost focus only once the whole hour. He'd finally managed to play an B major scale in tune and Brett broke into a smile--a real smile, not the flirty or exhausted smiles he habitually wore these days, but the kind of toothy grin he'd given Eddy back in high school, when Eddy helped him solve a particularly difficult equation or rewrote his essays for him. The kind of smile that used to inexplicably buoy Eddy's mood for an entire day and make him think that whatever he'd done for Brett was totally worth it, even if it really wasn't. 

But Eddy hadn't done anything for Brett this time. He'd only played a scale in tune. What a silly thing to smile about.

"Is something wrong?" Brett asked suddenly.

Eddy realized with a start that he'd stopped playing in the middle of the passage and was just staring at Brett. Brett stared back, perplexed.

"You were so close to finishing!" he exclaimed, with amused confusion, his eyes still deeply crinkled at the corners from his smile.

It's your fault, Eddy thought, a little bit exasperated, though he wasn't sure at what or with whom. 

*

"So, same time next week?" Eddy asked as their hour together drew to a close.

The clock read 4:30. He had just enough time to run home for a shower before he had to show up for Irene's thing. Which, now that he thought about it, he really didn't want to go.

"You're sure you want to keep doing this?" was Brett's amused response.

"Yeah, why not?"

"I don't know. I was pretty sure you were just being nice." Brett was leaning against the wall, watching Eddy carefully pack his violin. Though his face betrayed nothing, he sounded tentative as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "And I didn't think you'd actually have time."

"I don't, really," Eddy replied with a wry smile.

And obviously, the wiser thing to do would be to stop here before it became too much of a commitment, another task invading his dwindling leisure time.

But he couldn't seem to stop himself from saying, "If you're okay with me rescheduling all the time, I'd like to try again. It was hard, but kind of fun, so..."

"Yeah, that's fine. Just let me know."

"Awesome!" Eddy snapped his case shut and turned to Brett with a grin. "Okay, so how much do I owe you for this? And do you take Venmo? Or I brought cash too—"

Brett shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It's just for fun."

"No, that wouldn't be fair! I just took an hour of your time. Just charge me your usual rate, it's fine," Eddy insisted.

Brett seemed to mull this over for a few seconds, before he surprised Eddy by saying, "Then, how about you pay me back with your time."

"Huh?"

Brett chewed lightly on his lower lip and looked away. "Well, it is Christmas Eve. So, if you don't have anything else going on..."

"Christmas eve?" Eddy stared at Brett blankly. "Today? Is it actually?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know?"

He didn't, of course. In the past, he would have marked his calendar, so that he could remember to pick up a cake or make reservations for dinner. But now that it was just him, all the days blurred together, and despite the proliferation of trees and lights and jingles in the streets, Christmas Eve had devolved into just a regular Saturday.

"Shit, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to take up your holiday. You should've told me."

"I thought you knew," Brett murmured softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "And that's why you rescheduled..."

Eddy looked at him guiltily and apologized again. "I'd totally stay, but I actually have to go to this thing that Irene set up. A blind date or whatever. I kind of owe her a favor."

"Blind date...?"

"Yeah. It's stupid but...well, you never know," Eddy joked with a self-deprecating laugh. "Maybe I'll meet my future wife or whatever, right? But anyway—"

Brett studied him curiously and interrupted, "Is that what you're looking for?"

"I mean, I'm at that age, so...yeah, I guess that's the next item on the list, wife and kids," Eddy said, though it was mostly thoughtless blather. He was still focused on the fact that he couldn't spend the evening with Brett, and how bad he felt about it. "Anyway, sorry again! Are you—do you have anything going on this evening?"

There was a small pause, then Brett said, "Obviously," with a light smile. But it was different now, the more polite, distant kind of smile. "I was just going to invite you to a party, but that's fine. Next time."

"Yeah, next time," Eddy agreed quickly. "Let's do something after next time."

Next time, he'd make sure to clear his evening too. Maybe he could take Brett out for bubble tea, if he still liked that...or maybe dinner? He'd think of something.

Brett shrugged carelessly. "Sure."

*

Perhaps he'd said the wrong thing, Eddy reflected later, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what that might be. He thought back to Brett's unfinished sentence—"And that's why you rescheduled..."—had Brett believed he purposefully scheduled for Christmas Eve? But why? It wasn't as if they were...anything special.

"Eddy?" It was the girl sitting across from him, demanding his attention again. He smiled apologetically and asked her to repeat the question.

They were at a fancy Italian restaurant that was full of holiday cheer, and she was a cute girl, nice and extroverted, trying her best to draw Eddy out of his shell. Eddy knew Irene had put some thought in pairing her with him. As far as blind dates went, she was pretty much ideal. So he desperately wanted to like her, he really did, but he couldn't help it. His thoughts kept running away. 

He kept thinking about Brett, about the feeling of Brett's slender fingers wrapped lightly around his wrist, about the faint scent of Brett's shampoo from he when bent close earlier, about the deep wrinkles around Brett's eyes when he smiled.

He was thinking all the thoughts that he didn't allow himself to think while he was still at Brett's. It was like they had exploded in his mind, filling every crevice, crowding out everything else.


	10. Chapter 10

Eddy was checking up on Lucy in the pediatric wing when Janine popped in and gave him the good news. "The panel accepted your paper. You're going to Japan for the conference. Good job, Chen."

Her words took a second to sink in.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why would I lie?"

He returned her proud grin with a shy smile.

"Let me know if you need help with your presentation."

After she left, Lucy gave him a pout and asked innocently, "You're leaving us, Dr. Chen?"

He pat her gently on the head with a low laugh. "No, not until March and only for a weekend."

"That's good. I would miss you a lot if you left." With a relieved smile, she sat up and gave Eddy a hug with her small arms, which surprised and pleased him, almost as much as the panel's acceptance of his paper.

There were times--usually late at night, when he was alone in his apartment--when he thought that most things he did in life were entirely trivial, just another step up the rung in the ladder to nowhere. But sometimes, when a patient said things like that, he could convince himself to believe otherwise, that perhaps some of the things he did meant something to someone after all.

He wanted to tell someone about the paper, even though it wasn't all that big an accomplishment, so he texted Brett when he got back to his desk. Texting Brett had become something of a habit, after he got over his initial reluctance to initiate conversation. At first, he only reached out to ask about violin lesson scheduling, but with a few small prods from Brett, he began sharing random tidbits from his life that he had no one else to share with.

"Are you texting Sharon?" Irene asked, peering over at him over a stack of papers.

"Who's Sha--oh, that girl."

"What do you mean, that girl? Eddy Chen, you told me you liked her!"

"I do like her," Eddy replied absently.

Brett had responded with a simple, _congrats_ and a smiley face. It wasn't much, but it made him smile.

_Do you still like bubble tea?_

"And she said you've been ignoring her texts. I told her it's because you're busy, but from the looks of it--wait, who _are_ you texting anyway? Some other girl?"

_Yep. Why?_

"No, just Brett."

Irene glanced at him questioningly. "Have you been texting with Brett all this time?"

Eddy shrugged. "I guess. And my sister, sometimes."

"I didn't know you guys were that close. I'd never even heard of the guy until a couple weeks ago. So he was a really good friend in high school, then?"

"I mean ... not really. It's more like, we just get along well?"

_No reason. Just wondering_.

Irene continued gazing at him suspiciously, but since he refused to look away from his phone, she turned back to her own work without being able to puzzle anything out.

***

It's true that Eddy always felt strangely comfortable around Brett back in the day, even though they were totally different. It was true even from when they first met and sat next to each other Mr. Huang's after school tutoring. At the time, Eddy had thought it was because Brett had that effect on everyone. But other times he thought, maybe it was just him.

In junior year, Brett invited him over once on a whim. It was a hot day and Eddy's car was in the shop. He was walking towards the bus stop when Brett pulled up and asked him what he was up to.

"Do you need a ride then? Or actually, if you're free, do you want to hang out at my place?"

Eddy hesitated. He had planned to go straight home and plow through his homework until dinner, but the relentless sun was making his head woozy and Brett's cool smile, plus the aircon in his brand new car, seemed awfully inviting.

"I feel like I never see you these days," said Brett as he zipped through Brisbane. He drove much faster than Eddy, but he drove well, so Eddy didn't worry.

It's not my fault, Eddy thought. By then, Brett had already been admitted to the conservatory, so he no longer had to worry about grades or tests. Eddy still saw him in orchestra, or in certain classes, or sometimes in the library in the mornings. But more often than not, like other seniors ready to take flight, Brett spent most of his time fooling around and going to parties.

It seemed to be all he talked about on that ride. Eddy, who never went to parties and who still had a year and a half left of toil before college, listened quietly. He was a little bit nervous and a little bit jealous but mostly, he felt happy to be sitting next to Brett again. Life had been exhausting and tedious for awhile now; listening to Brett's harmless chatter was a welcome reprieve.

"You should come to the party on Friday."

"Nah, I don't think I can. I've got exams soon."

Brett pulled in the driveway and stopped the car. Before they got out, he turned to stare at Eddy. Eddy, beginning to feel embarrassed, asked if there was something on his face.

Brett smiled and reached over, his fingertips just grazing the skin beneath Eddy's eyes. "Your dark circles are intense man. I keep thinking that when I see you. You should take it easy."

Eddy gave a faltering laugh. "Yours weren't much better this time last year."

Brett lived in a gated house twice the size of Eddy's. Everything was colored in red and gold--a shock to Eddy's eyes, accustomed as they were to cool whites and greys. There was a whole room dedicated to Brett's trophies, and when Mrs. Yang greeted them, she wore the look of a happy, proud mother.

"Ah, I finally get to meet the famous Eddy Chen! Your name has a way of coming up," she said, her eyes twinkling. She handed them plates of freshly cut fruit, some pastries she baked herself, and a canister of Pringles. Eddy remained a little bit nervous and a little bit jealous. His own mother didn't bake as well as other Taiwanese moms, and he suspected that she wouldn't have been this welcoming. She didn't like it when people came over to distract Eddy, and she didn't like it when Eddy went over to others' houses, even if it was Oliver, whom he'd known all his life.

"Thanks, Mrs. Yang."

"Aww, so polite. Teach my son some manners, won't you?"

"Ugh, _Mum._ "

Mrs. Yang smiled obliviously and asked Eddy whether he would stay for dinner. "We're having bbq. His dad has a special way of smoking the ribs that he's dying to show off, so if you're free..."

"Sorry, I think I have to go home though. My mum's expecting me."

"Oh, but I can give her a call!"

"No, I don't think--"

"Okay, Mum, that's enough, we'll be fine. Out. _Bye._ "

Mrs. Yang whacked her son lovingly on the head and dawdled out.

"Ow," Brett mumbled. He rolled his eyes at Eddy. "She's a bit much, sorry."

Eddy didn't think so. Actually, he wished he could stay for dinner. It seemed like it would be more fun and lively than his own family dinners which, due to his father's recent health issues and his mother's rising anxiety, had become sullen, stressful affairs. But he knew he couldn't--he couldn't take the easy way out.

They ended up wasting the afternoon doing what boys do: video games. Mario, Super Smash, Pokemon--Brett had it all. At one point, Brett's brother poked his head in to join them, then left again sulkily, after getting soundly beaten by both Brett and Eddy

"Should we have gone easy on him?" Eddy asked, feeling guilty.

Brett laughed. "Nah. He's chill. And honestly, thank god for that little fucker. He's committed to being a dentist, so my parents let me off the hook."

"Seems like your parents are supportive about the music thing."

"Yeah. I was surprised too. Now I just have succeed, right? Anyway, what about you? You're not still going to be a doctor, are you?"

"That's the plan."

"But I can hear you improving. I saw your performance last week. I wouldn't have thought to play it that way, but your interpretation was beautiful, and the judges obviously thought so. And that competition's a big deal. My point is, are you _sure_ you want to be a doctor?"

Eddy's heart lifted at the unexpected compliment. For a second, he wondered, and a small doubt lodged itself in the back of his mind. But he nodded.

"Yeah. I don't think I can change now. Anyway, wanna play another round?"

That day, the air was torrid and still outside, but Brett's room was cheerfully cool. Eddy still remembered bits and pieces of it. Anime posters plastered on the walls; rows of manga lining the shelves; consoles and games stacked on the floor; a box with a new pair of Gucci sneakers, a Burberry jacket tossed haphazardly on the chair... And then Brett himself, warm and courageous in a way that Eddy could never be.

The bright, cool room was strangely comforting, a small sanctuary divorced from the everyday worries that summed up Eddy's life. Here, he could forget for awhile and have fun. It was nice.

At some point, they were laughing about a stupid, dirty joke one of them had told, and Brett had collapsed breathlessly against his side. Eddy waited for him to right himself up, but he didn't. He just stayed like that, nestled against Eddy. It was odd but they were comfortable and maybe this is what friends did and anyway Eddy didn't feel like pushing Brett away. Brett dropped his head on Eddy's shoulder.

"Hey, who are you taking to prom?" he asked.

"I don't think I'm going. I'm not really into parties and...I don't know. There's a lot of other stuff going on."

"Are you serious? But...ugh. Fine. I knew you would say that. Okay but, if you _were_ going to prom though, who would you ask?"

"Um. I don't know? I haven't thought about it, since I'm not going."

"So no one comes to mind?"

"Not really."

Brett pouted and let out a small, frustrated sigh. But then he seemed to think of something and he smiled again. "So that means there aren't any girls here that you really really like?"

"I guess not..." Eddy mused.

"That's good."

"Huh?"

Eddy wanted to ask Brett the same questions but Brett, who apparently got the answers he wanted, had already moved on to the next topic and Eddy lost his chance.

It was close to dusk when Belle drove over to pick him up. Brett walked him to the door. He asked, "So you'll come to the party on Friday, won't you?"

Eddy shook his head. "I already said I can't..."

Brett frowned. "But it's _my_ party. You have to come. It can be my graduation present. Please?"

Eddy was startled by the sudden reminder. High school had always seemed interminable to him; he forgot that it would eventually come to an end. In a few short weeks, Brett would be done and gone. He felt a sudden sense of melancholy.

Brett was still waiting for his response, his eyes bright as he peered up at Eddy expectantly.

* * *

Eddy was less nervous the second time he showed up at Brett's. And less disheveled. When Brett opened the door, he had on a ready smile and proffered a cold cup of bubble tea.

The smile wavered for a split second when he took in Brett's outfit--a tight, black turtleneck with shorts--but it wasn't too obvious. He hoped, anyway.

Brett looked at the bubble tea with surprise, then accepted it with a grin. "Thanks, man. Come in."

Everything was the same as last time. Eddy settled into his stool and propped up his violin. He was in high spirits. He had set aside time to practice that week and he would impress Brett with his progress, surely.

And then Brett leaned over to adjust his position and Eddy noticed that hidden just below the collar of Brett's shirt was a small patch of purple.

Anyone could tell what it was.

Eddy froze.

"What's wrong?" Brett asked. He stared at Eddy, blinking slowly, his long lashes fluttering over his innocent dark eyes.

Eddy looked away. "Nothing." 


	11. Chapter 11

“Can you play something for me?” Eddy asked.

Brett looked at him in surprise, the easy smile on his face straining for a half-second, flagging at the corners.

They had been going for about 45 minutes now, and Eddy felt increasingly distracted. Something nagged at him at the edge of his consciousness. He vaguely knew that he wanted to ask about it, but that he had no grounds to do so. Brett certainly didn’t owe him any explanations.

Brett, too, seemed unfocused. Compared to last time, Eddy sensed the return of that familiar weariness that Brett always tried to hide. He could tell that, every so often, Brett’s mind slipped away to think about something—or someone?—else. And that distracted Eddy all the more, because it made him wonder …

So he ignored Brett’s obvious unwillingness and asked, “What about the Tchaikovsky? I still remember your performance from high school. It was really good.”

“Tchaikovsky, huh…” Brett murmured. “But it’s been forever. I don’t think I even remember how to play that anymore.”

It has been forever, which was perhaps why Eddy wanted to hear it again. It was a memory of Brett that belonged to him, and not to whoever had left that mark on Brett’s neck. For some reason, that mattered. He grasped at it.

“Please? Just a little bit then?”

He even went so far as to pout, which he hadn’t done for eons, and which thoroughly embarrassed him. But it worked—Brett caved with a light scoff. “Fine, just a little.”

Eddy did remember that Brett was very good, but he couldn’t remember what Brett actually sounded like. He could only recall his impression at the time. A blurred image of Brett’s bow slicing deep into the strings without hesitation, of Brett zipping through the hard passages with zest. Back then, he played with the aggressive confidence—and blissful ignorance—of youth.

And now …

Well, now, he was still good. Better, surely. His violin had been upgraded, he had more technically mastery. Tchaikovsky’s tricky runs rang out with clarity. But something had changed in the tone, Eddy thought. It sounded hollow, almost; the melody carrying a hint of unease. In Brett’s eyes, Eddy saw a flicker of agitation that he didn’t remember from before.

Brett stopped abruptly with a grimace.

“Sorry,” he said. He set the violin down almost harshly, his frustration palpable as he gazed sullenly down at his hands.

Eddy quickly realized what must have happened. He felt a wave of guilt. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I forgot—”

“It’s fine,” Brett said with a tired smile. “Don’t worry about it man. It’s nothing. Just on and off, you know? And it’s been…a little more stressful this week than usual, I guess, and I probably practiced more than I should. But I’ll be fine in a bit. Do you want to keep going with lessons?”

Eddy hesitated.

“Actually, can I see?”

He reached his hands out towards Brett.

“What do you mean?” Brett asked, confused.

“Your hand, can I see?”

Brett looked at him uncertainly. Very slowly, he lifted his left hand and placed it atop Eddy’s.

“Just this one?” Eddy asked.

Brett nodded, staring at him with wide eyes. Eddy chuckled softly as he closed his fingers over Brett’s hand. It was so small compared to his own—small and white, with hints of pink at the joints. Delicate, like a girl’s hand, Eddy had always thought.

“I took a semester of physical therapy in med school, and they taught us how to massage. I was thinking it might help. Stop me if it hurts, though.”

Brett wavered briefly, responded with a soft, okay.

They sat in peaceful silence for a few moments, Brett watching him as he gently kneaded Brett’s soft hand, trying to bring some warmth back into the cold, stiff fingers.

“Does that feel okay?” he asked quietly, glancing up at the other man. “Should I keep going?”

Brett nodded again without saying anything. Eddy noticed that a faint flush had spread across Brett’s cheeks, and that his eyes remained downcast, refusing to meet Eddy’s gaze.

For some reason, this made Eddy smile.

“So, should we get dinner or something?” Eddy asked after they’d packed up their respective violins.

Brett gave him a crooked smile. “You really don’t have to feel bad about last time.”

It embarrassed Eddy that Brett saw right through him, but what did that really matter? He was already here. Quite earnestly he said, “It’s not that. I’m really free, and I know it’s New Year’s Eve.”

Brett rolled his eyes. “Good job. Yes, it’s New Year’s Eve, so I’ve really got a party to go to.”

“Oh,” said Eddy, trying not to sound disappointed. “Well, in that case…”

“But you can come, if you want. It’s at Andy’s. No pressure though, Dr. Chen.”

Eddy make a quick calculation in his head. Sure, a rowdy rooftop party wasn’t exactly what he wanted after a long week, but it was New Year’s Eve, and he did want to make it up to Brett, and if this was the only option, then, “Okay.”

Brett grinned. Eddy gave himself a mental pat on the back.

They took Eddy’s car, which Eddy somehow hadn’t prepared for. He hadn’t cleaned it for a few weeks, and the old takeout box in the passenger seat was particularly embarrassing. He tossed it to the back with a flustered _sorry_.

“It’s just that I’ve been busy, and I drive around by myself these days, so no one yells at me to take it out,” he explained with a dry laugh.

Brett tilted his head with an amused smile. “Still?”

“What do you mean, still?”

“What about that girl you met last week? I have it on good authority that you guys are a match made in heaven.”

“Good authority? Oh, you mean Irene.”

“I mean Irene. She told me right away. And also that I should stop texting you so you can pay more attention to the girl. What’s her name, Sharon?”

Eddy frowned and cursed Irene in his head. “

“Although that’s unfair, don’t you think?” Brett remarked with an offhanded glance at Eddy as he played with his seatbelt. “Since you’re the one who keeps texting me?”

Eddy felt his face heat up. He pretended to focus on driving. “Uh—just—just ignore her. She’s being dumb. Anyway, it’s nothing. I don’t think it’ll work out with the girl.”

“Why not?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m just busy.” Those words were hard to reconcile with the fact that he was presently driving Brett to a party, and from the way Brett was smirking, Eddy suspected he knew it. He cleared his throat pathetically. “Anyway… um. Well, it seems like you’ve had better luck than me?”’

“Hmm?”

Eddy kept his eyes trained on the road and tried not to sound too probing. “I just…it seems like…I happened to see—”

From the corner of his eye, he saw a look of confusion pass over Brett’s face. Then he laughed. “You saw? And here I thought the turtleneck did the trick. Would you believe me if I told you that it’s from practicing the violin too hard?”

“Is it?” Eddy asked, peering over curiously.

“No, dude! And keep your eyes on the road.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Brett laughed again. “No, it’s just some guy I met at a bar.”

“Yeah?”

Eddy didn’t like the sound of that (what guy? which bar? when?), but he tried to keep it cool and casual. “Well, what’s he like?”

Brett shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just a hook up, and we were pretty drunk. I’m sure I won’t see him again,” he said rather carelessly. With a cheeky smile, he added, “I’m not you, you know. I’m trying to have some more fun before I start looking for love or … whatever it is you’re looking for. To settle down and create the next generation of worker bees for society?”

Eddy’s brows crinkled just slightly. It was a joke of course, and it shouldn’t have mattered, but something in Brett’s tone bothered him. Rubbed him the wrong way, somehow. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“It’s not like I don’t want to have fun,” he said stiffly. “But if I only have limited time, and I have to settle down eventually anyway, I might as well spend that time on a relationship that means something rather than waste it on meaningless hookups, you know?”

It came out a little more seriously than he’d intended. He saw Brett flinch.

But after that, Brett said calmly, “Sure. No, I get it.”

And then he moved onto other topics, in the way he always did, before Eddy could dig deeper. Still, he wasn’t so successful this time, and a slight tension lurked in the conversation until they reached their destination. Eddy felt bad, but couldn’t do anything to extinguish it.

*

Andy’s place was far more crowded than the last time, and before long, Brett had been yanked away by someone or other and Eddy was left to fend for himself in a series of awkward, drunken chats with a motley assortment of people that he barely knew. This _definitely_ wasn’t how he wanted to spend the evening, and he was seriously thinking about just sneaking out when Andy caught a hold of him and, in a strangely furtive way, pulled him aside to ask how Brett was doing.

“He’s fine, I think?”

“Because you know he was really serious about auditioning for some quartet or whatever, and he didn’t make it. Did he tell you?”

“Oh, no…I hadn’t heard…”

“Well, he won’t talk about it—you know how he is—he keeps saying it’s fine, he doesn’t care, but I think he’s pretty bummed. He worries me sometimes. Maybe you could try talking to him about it or something? He always cared about what you had to say, almost more than the rest of us, you know?”

Sure, said Eddy, though he felt rather helpless about the whole thing. Andy didn’t seem to notice. He gave Eddy a hearty thump on the shoulder and said, thanks dude, before slinking off to greet others.

Anyway, it was easier said than done.

Eddy didn’t even find Brett again until it was close to midnight.

Brett was standing alone by the rails, staring into the harbor. Eddy felt an odd sense of déjà vu at this image, which overlapped eerily with the one from a month ago. There he was again, the sea breeze caressing his hair, and again, he looked so fragile and small against the night that for a second, Eddy thought the darkness might consume him and he would be disappear.

Eddy strode over quickly and pressed a frozen margarita against Brett’s cheek. Brett’s sharp exhale reassured him. Brett was still here.

“Hi.”

Brett glanced at him and looked away again without accepting the drink. “Hi.”

With an awkward smile, Eddy asked, “Excited for the new year?”

“Not particularly,” said Brett. He shrugged and leaned into the railing. “I always feel kind of down around this time, actually. Kind of like, just another year gone, and what have I got to show for it?”

Eddy listened quietly.

After a pause, Brett continued, “By the way, I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier, on the car. You probably think I just fool around and that I’m too old to be doing that, but it’s not so easy, you know. You’ve been in a stable relationship for so long, so you probably don’t know.

“But I’ve lived in this stupid city for years now, and I’ve met so many people, and don’t you think I’ve tried? It’s just that not one of them … is the right one.”

He uttered the words so lightly, but there was real sorrow in his downturned eyes when he finally looked up at Eddy. Eddy stared silently at the melancholic smile.

Meanwhile, all around them, people were beginning the countdown, chanting _ten … nine … eight …_

Eddy’s heart raced along with the seconds. There was surely something he wanted to say to Brett, if only he could get the words out.

_Three … two … one …_

The skies exploded with color as fireworks blotted against the heavens. The crowd erupted into cheers. Eddy couldn’t hear anything above the din. He continued staring at Brett.

And maybe it was the noise or the alcohol or the general mood of the night, but all thoughts flew from his head except for one, which was that Brett looked hauntingly beautiful under the light of the fireworks, and for the fleeting second, Eddy had the crazy idea that he wanted to hold that beautiful face in his hands and kiss it, kiss away the exhaustion and the sorrow, kiss Brett until he smiled again, actually smiled…

He stepped closer. His heart hammered in his chest.

Brett looked at him in surprise. Those sad eyes carried a glimmer of brightness as they watched Eddy.

And then it all ended and the moment of insanity passed, thankfully, before Eddy crossed the line.

He shook his head ruefully and gave Brett a small, shy smile. They were standing very close and he wanted to take a step back.

But before he could move, Brett stepped closer. The smaller man placed his hand on Eddy’s arm, stood up on his tiptoes, and pressed a feathery light kiss to Eddy’s cheek, just above his lips.

“Happy New Year, Eddy.”


	12. Chapter 12

_ Are you coming for lessons this week? _

January turned out to be a busy month, with everyone emerging from the holidays rearing to go. On top of Eddy’s usual routine, Janine had recruited him for a new paper she was working on with a professor at the university. It was a lot of work to shoulder, but also a rare opportunity that she didn’t bother extending to Eddy’s two co-residents, so of course Eddy said yes. All of this meant that, other than the few hours of sleep he got at home, Eddy spent his life at the hospital. 

Violin lessons necessarily fell by the wayside. 

_ Can’t this week. Sorry! Can we reschedule?  _

Which wasn’t a bad thing  _ per se _ , Eddy thought as he pressed send. He rarely made impulsive decisions, preferring to weigh the pros and cons, to look down the road for a glimpse of the future. And while the future wasn’t always visible, he could at least give himself some time to think. 

*

After Brett kissed him that night, Eddy reached a hand up to his cheek where Brett’s lips had landed. It felt hot to the touch. Was it from Brett’s kiss, or from the blood that had rushed to Eddy’s head? As Brett stepped away, Eddy reached out hastily to grab his arm.

“Wait--What was...what was that for?”

Brett’s glance shifted from Eddy’s hand to Eddy’s face. “For good luck. That’s what people do right? To welcome the New Year! I know you’re no fun, but a kiss is ok, isn’t it?” He was wearing a cheeky smile now; the moment of fragility had passed. 

Brett had said something similar to him once before. Not exactly identical and the context was differently, but it had felt the same. The same joking tone that was meant to smooth things over. Eddy wondered if he remembered. 

In any event, Eddy had tried very hard to forget and had succeeded for many years, yet here they were again. 

He released Brett’s arm. 

“Happy New Year, Brett.”

Not too long after midnight, the party began winding down. The parking lot was lit by a long line of ubers and taxis waiting for the drunken revelers. Brett hesitated for a moment before getting into his. “You could come with, Dr. Chen,” he suggested, mild seduction coated with uncertainty. 

But Eddy merely smiled and shook his head. “Nah. I’m working on settling down and creating the next gen of worker bees, remember? No fun hookups for me. Good night, Brett.”

Brett frowned and began to say something, but it was late and Eddy had a slight headache from the drinks. He shut the door gently behind the other man and waved goodbye. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Incidentally, the last kiss had also been at the end of a party. 

Brett had invited half the orchestra, a group of semi-awkward half-grown children falling over themselves to appear cool. Eddy’s hazy memories of that night were suffused with the pungent scent of cheap beer mixed with the artificial fragrance of Victoria’s Secret body mists that girls those days liked to wear.

He himself wasn’t so different from now, drifting vaguely through the crowds, sipping awkwardly at the drink Brett had pressed in his hands, making stilted conversation, and never feeling as if he belonged. Mostly, he was searching for Brett. It annoyed him that Brett had invited him only to say hi and then abandon him. 

Brett was sitting in the living room. He and his closer friends had formed a loose circle on the ground to play a game of some sort. Eddy, acting out from irritation or the influence of alcohol, inserted himself in the small opening next to Brett, who turned and smiled at him. Eddy noticed just then that Brett had gotten his braces removed; his smile suddenly looked different. Eddy stared at him for a few moments, at a loss for words. Brett giggled quietly, his gaze soft. 

“We’re playing ‘Never Have I Ever,’” Brett said, his words already beginning to slur. “Play with us.”

Eddy hadn’t really wanted to play--he didn’t like baring his truths to the world--but he was pretty buzzed and it seemed dreary to say no. Besides, it was easy enough to fake it. Just drink when everyone else does and you won’t stand out. 

The only time he slipped up was when one of the girls said,  _ never have I ever kissed someone _ . Her question provoked a round of laughter, which made her blush, but it was too late to retract the question. 

And for some reason, perhaps because he was distracted by the commotion or maybe he just wasn’t thinking, Eddy forgot to take a drink.

Thankfully, everyone was too busy teasing the girl to take notice of him. Even Eddy himself hardly realized what he’d exposed, until he saw Brett gazing at him.

“What?” asked Eddy self-consciously.

Brett shook his head and looked away with a secretive smile. “Nothing.”

  
  
  
  
  


Belle called Eddy around ten to tell him that she was coming for him. It was still early, but any later and their mother would throw a fit--they both knew that. Brett must have understood, because he didn’t beg Eddy to stay. Instead, disregarding his other guests, he walked Eddy out and waited with him on the driveway. 

The night was cool and still. The neighborhood was dead quiet, except for muted music emanating from Brett’s house and the occasional passing car. 

“Is it true?” Brett asked, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“That you’ve never kissed.”

Eddy, already red from the alcohol, blushed furiously. He stared down at his feet and mumbled, “Yeah, what about it?”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. It just hasn’t happened yet.” He was starting to sound sulky. The whole kissing thing had never really bothered him before, but now that he thought about it, he was already seventeen, so it really was kind of embarrassing. Especially before Brett, who seemed like he’s had tons of experience. 

Brett let out a faint laugh. And then, quite suddenly, he leaned up towards Eddy and kissed him.

Eddy’s world went silent, save for the sound of his own pounding heart. 

It only lasted for a second, just a second of Brett’s soft lips pressed against his, the rim of Brett’s glasses scraping his cheek, the faint scent of lemon and rum on Brett’s breath...

Brett pulled away gracefully, his eyes half-hidden by his lashes as he peered up at Eddy’s wide eyes and crimson face. He seemed satisfied by what he saw, and a small, teasing smirk played at the corner of his lips. 

“There. Now you’ve had your first kiss, and you don’t have to be embarrassed anymore.”

*

They never spoke about it. 

Brett greeted Eddy Monday at orchestra as if nothing had happened, and Eddy didn’t ask. It was probably just some drunken whim of Brett’s, Eddy had decided, after thinking about it this way and that over the weekend. And if Brett sought him out more in the days that followed--if they happened to share longer looks at each other when their eyes met, if they sometimes walked closer than was really necessary so that their shoulders bumped against each other’s--well, that was just because Brett was leaving soon. 

It couldn’t be anything more than that; anything more would have been unimaginable. 

So of course they never spoke about it, because there was nothing more to say. Not in those days, not in their community. 

  
  
  
  


The last time Eddy really saw Brett was at Brett’s graduation. It was right after the ceremony and everyone had flooded out of the auditorium to take photos with friends and family. Eddy was saying hi to a few kids he knew when Brett hopped over and dragged him to the side. 

“I guess this is goodbye then,” said Brett. He scuffed the heel of his shoe against the pavement with his head lowered, looking every inch the dejected child. Ironically, this dejection at their parting cheered Eddy up. 

“Yeah. Well, good luck with everything.”

“Thanks.”

A short, bittersweet silence descended over them. 

“Have you given some more thought about music school?” Brett asked unexpectedly.

“I ... kind of, but I’m not sure…” 

Eddy paused here for a moment. He wasn’t sure how he worked up the courage, or what kind of answer he was expecting, but he asked, “Would you want me to come?”

“It’s not about what I want.” Brett turned away to hide his face, but Eddy could just make out the traces of a shy smile. His heart skipped a beat. 

“But would you want that?” he pressed.

“I … Yeah. That’d be nice.”

And then after that… well, after that, they gradually lost contact in the usual way that people do. 

Brett was whisked away to Taiwan that summer to see the family, and after he came back, he packed off to college and was really gone. 

In those first months, Eddy had missed him a lot, and they had kept up a steady stream of texts and emails and facebook messages. But all of that had dwindled with time. It became increasingly obvious that Brett had moved onto a different world, a world where he freed himself of his good boy image and just let go. His facebook was filled with clips and photos of parties and drinking and people Eddy didn’t know. Scrolling through those posts, Eddy thought about how silly it was that he’d tripped himself up over a simple kiss. 

Maybe it was just a drunken whim after all. 

A few months later, Eddy didn’t have the time or capacity to think about Brett because other things were happening. Those were hard times for the family -- particularly his mum -- and maybe it was then that Eddy’s childhood came to an end. He could still remember that one night when his mum sank into his bed in exhaustion, her eyes swimming in tears. 

“I know you’re mad at me,” she had said. 

“I’m not,” Eddy protested weakly. They had been fighting but he didn’t want this. He felt guilty, all of a sudden, for arguing with his mother, for making her even sadder than she already was. 

“You think I’m stopping you from pursuing your dreams. But I just want you to realize that music isn’t easy. How many people try, and how many people actually make it? What makes you think you’re different? Medicine isn’t easy either, but it’s easier than music. You know what I mean, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I want you to be happy, but I also don’t want you to have a hard life,” she said as she held his hand, her voice breaking up in the middle. “And now that it’s just me… I wish I could give you more, I wish I could give you the world, but... A musician’s life is hard, that’s all. Think about it.”

  
  
  


Towards the middle of senior year, Eddy messaged Brett one last time.  _ I have auditions at Griffith next week. Thoughts? Tips? _

But Brett must have been busy or something because Eddy didn’t hear back for a long time, and when Brett finally remembered to respond, he had already made a different decision. 

* * *

Anyway, that had all been forever ago, and maybe it had hurt for a little bit, but time had a way of eroding things. In uni, Eddy had tried to continue playing violin, and when he played, his thoughts sometimes wandered to the idea of Brett and what could have been. But after injuring himself junior year, he stopped and never got around to picking it back up. Perhaps that was the last straw because after that, Brett, too, faded to the back of his mind as his life filled up with new goals and new people and new relationships.

That’s just how it went. Life was full of missed opportunities, severed connection. It was nobody’s fault.

But how often was it that life doled out a second chance? 

They were almost 30 now, and times had changed. Perhaps they could make a different decision this time. 

On the other hand, they were almost 30 now; could they really afford the courage and time to make mistakes? 

Eddy had already made it this far; why not just settle down with a nice girl and two kids? What was the point in fighting it?  Besides, if there was anything Eddy had learned, it was that you couldn’t take Brett’s kisses too seriously. Brett kissed lots of people--famous soloists, random guys at bars--he kissed and forgot about them, as capricious as ever. Who’s to say that, a few months from now, Eddy would mean anything more to him than these other guys?

But then again, Brett had looked so sad the other night, a shell of his former self, so faded that he might be whisked away by an ocean breeze. 

_ I’ve met so many people, and don’t you think I’ve tried? It’s just that not one of them … is the right one. _

Could time have changed him too? 

Eddy sighed softly. He was lying in the dark, spending precious hours of sleep compiling his mental list of pros and cons. And it was a waste of time, he knew. The truth was, there was no rationality behind feelings; you could think in circles forever and never find your way out. 

He fell asleep with those endless thoughts swirling round and round in his head. He couldn’t have guessed that the next day, Brett would have a way of forcing his hand, and none of these thoughts would matter at all.


	13. Chapter 13

These days, no one really spoke on the phone if they could avoid it, and Eddy couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't his mum called him on his cell. Which was probably why he was confused when Brett rang him up and reflexively thought that it couldn't be anything good. It never was when people called. He waited two rings, wondering if it's a misdial, before finally picking up.

"I'm just trying to figure out my schedule," Brett explained. "Thought it'd be quicker to call. Do you know when you might be free for lessons? I mean, no pressure. And it's okay if you don't want to play anymore..."

Eddy relaxed as he listened to Brett's voice, his sudden apprehension seeping out of him again. Sorry about that, he said, as he pulled up his calendar and scrolled through the dates. There was really no good time, but now that Brett was calling him, he realized he had been MIA for some days now and felt guilty about it. "It's just that I've been really busy lately with—well, I won't bore you with the details, but anyway, I should have a better idea soon. Can I get back to you, like tomorrow?"

"Sure, yeah, no worries. My fault for springing it on you out of the blue. Hey, but since I've got you on the line, I guess I also wanted to tell you that...well, it's stupid what I did, but I..." His voice, which had started in a light, upbeat tone, sounded hesitant and melancholy towards the end, and he trailed off before he finished the sentence.

Eddy was about to prompt him to continue when an alert popped up on his screen, telling him that the patient was ready for him.

"Actually, you know what, don't even worry about it, it's no big deal," said Brett, after Eddy told him he had to end the call. He sounded almost relieved.

"No, I'll call you back. Just give me an hour."

"Yeah, okay..."

But when Eddy called back as promised, Brett didn't pick up, nor did he respond to Eddy's multiple follow-up texts.

*

It was nothing to be worried about, Eddy told himself. Something stupid probably just meant something stupid, and not something catastrophic. People got busy. God knows that he often took more than a day or two to respond to texts. And there was the fact that Brett was a grown man, fully capable of taking care of himself. Besides, even if Brett did have something important he wanted to talk about, he must have closer friends than Eddy to speak to. Disregarding their high school years, he and Eddy have only known each other for a few months. Friends, maybe, but not close friends.

Still, as the day wore on, Eddy felt increasingly unsettled and by late afternoon, he was debating whether he should just go and see Brett. It wasn't a rehearsal or concert day, so Brett was probably home, but it was also kind of overkill, wasn't it? It'd be really stupid if he was just overreacting. And even if something _was_ wrong, Eddy had always hated bothering himself with other people's issues, which always ended up being troublesome...

Pursing his lips, he stared pensively out the hospital windows. It was another hot day, the stifling and humid kind just before a storm. Already, strong winds had swept up the dust and dyed the air a dirty yellow, suffocating to look at.

It was the kind of oppressive, murky weather that bred unpleasant thoughts.

Now that he had Brett on his mind, he recalled vaguely something about a failed quartet audition and that he was supposed to talk to Brett about it. Why hadn't he? And earlier that same day, hadn't Brett's hand frozen up again? He had seemed so frustrated, and Eddy had meant to talk to him about that too. But in the aftermath of the kiss and the personal turmoil it caused, those things had simply slipped his mind.

Brett certainly didn't have it easy these days, now that he thought about it. Eddy wondered if something else had happened.

He frowned. There was a departmental meeting that evening. Skipping it wasn't such a big deal, but he would be giving up a good opportunity to talk to the chair about his paper. In fact, Janine had suggested he introduce himself, and he knew full well that, no matter how smart or hardworking he was, networking was the real key to success... And then he thought again about the fact that whatever was going on with Brett wasn't really his responsibility...

Brett still hadn't texted back.

"You ready to head over?" Janine asked, tapping him on the shoulder.

Eddy hesitated.

"Actually, I... I don't think I can make it tonight. I have a personal issue that just popped up...sorry. I think I have to go early, if that's okay."

Janine looked at him in surprise. He could imagine why. In the entire time that he'd worked with her, he'd never once excused himself from any work functions, no matter how trivial they were or how tired he was. Maybe for that reason, she seemed to believe that whatever he was facing was actually important. With an expression of concern she urged him to go. "Hope everything's okay."

He thanked her and ran off.

***

Eddy had knocked for some time already and was wracking his brain for where else to check when the door to Brett's apartment suddenly creaked open and revealed Brett, all in one piece and looking perfectly normal, if somewhat stupefied.

"Eddy...? What are you doing here?"

Eddy chuckled dryly. "Uh. Hi." 

He should feel stupid, or embarrassed, or annoyed, but really, seeing Brett standing there safe and sound, he felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of relief. 

"It's just that you never responded to my texts," Eddy explained plaintively as he stepped into the flat.

Brett eyed him with amusement. "And what, you thought I was kidnapped or something?"

"Well, no, but I don't know. It's really your fault for not responding. You live alone so anything could happen, and you left me hanging on the phone too, so..." He wrinkled his nose. Now that he was inside, he was swiftly assaulted by the pungent smell of alcohol in the air. He also saw that the small apartment was a total mess—the bed unmade, dirty laundry on the ground, empty soda bottles strewn over the counter... 

For any other bachelor, this wouldn't have been so abnormal, but as far as Eddy could tell, Brett always kept an organized house, slotting everything into its rightful place like so many Tetris pieces. For Brett, the state of the apartment looked downright chaotic.

Eddy glanced at the empty of wine on the dining table and frowned. "Did you drink all of that today? It's not even eight..."

Brett leaned against the wall and shrugged, refusing to meet Eddy's gaze. "Sorry, I took a nap, and then didn't check my phone after. Anyway, yeah, I... I was celebrating." He said this with a defeated smile. 

Eddy's eyes narrowed. So something was wrong, after all.

"Celebrating what?" Eddy asked, and as he spoke, he tried to quell a renewed sense of nervousness with unnecessary tasks, like gathering the old takeout box on the table and taking it towards the kitchen.

"That I'd quit. My job." 

Eddy halted in steps, stunned. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. He turned and stared at Brett. 

"You quit orchestra?"

"Yep. Finally. I did it! I'm a free man."

"But...why?"

Brett shrugged again, though now, he'd wiped the smile off his face and looked almost annoyed. "Why not?"

"I guess...I thought it was your dream job. Since way back in high school, you--"

"Eddy, that was _forever_ ago. People change. It's boring and I'm tired of it. It's the same thing every day. And I'm not even good—whatever. I just don't want to play the violin anymore, okay? It's stupid and meaningless. I want to do something else, that's all. You used to play and you quit. I thought you'd understand. You do understand, don't you?"

_That's not the same_ , Eddy thought. He didn't say it though. He didn't know what to say. Everything he came up with seemed mean or trivial. He wished Brett hadn't dropped it on him like this. 

Brett took a teetering step forward. "Well, aren't you going to say anything?"

"What are you going to do now?" Eddy asked hesitantly. 

Brett frowned. "I don't know. I don't want to think about that now. I'm going to drink some more and figure it out tomorrow. You should celebrate with me. We can make a toast. I'll grab you a glass."

He moved unsteadily towards the kitchen as he spoke, ignoring Eddy's protests, "It's okay. I don't want anything."

"Oh come on. Just one glass—"

But as he tried to walk past Eddy, Eddy placed a hand on his arm and stopped him. Startled, Brett peered up at him, uncomprehending. "What?"

And it was only then that Eddy noticed Brett's glassy eyes were wet with tears that he refused to let fall. Eddy's heart contracted painfully and without really thinking, he gently circled his arms around Brett and pulled him close into a loose hug. "Brett, it's okay. You don't have to ... you don't have to pretend that you're fine."

Brett stood very still. "Pretend? What do you know about pretending?"

"I don't know. I just ... I know you."

Brett laughed brokenly. He bowed his head slightly so that it pressed against Eddy's chest, hiding his face. "That's funny, Eddy. No, you don't. You don't know me at all..."

You don't know what a failure I am, he said, a failure, a fraud, other variations on that theme. Something about how he wasn't a real musician, about how stupid he was for thinking he could make it, about how he was just a disappointment to everyone, especially his family. I'm not even good at the violin, he said at one point, and I can't get better anymore. I just can't.

"And I'm sick of it. I hate it. I really, really hate it. I just want to stop." 

And then he stopped speaking entirely, and Eddy knew he was crying, even though he hardly made a sound.

"Don't look," he pleaded, voice muffled against Eddy's shirt. 

Eddy only nodded and tightened his hold. Perhaps sensing this, Brett sagged against him in defeat. For awhile, neither of them said anything and the only sound in the apartment was Brett's restrained cries accompanied by the soft whirl of the ceiling fan and the pitter patter of rain hitting the windows.

As they stood there in silence, Eddy realized for the first time how entirely superfluous words were for moments like these. And perhaps equally unnecessary were rational thoughts—those endless, circular thoughts that had plagued him these past few weeks. Because in the end, it didn't matter what the pros and the cons were or whether or how they outweighed each other. In the end, he had somehow sensed Brett needed him, and he had come, and that was that.

He rested his chin on top of Brett's head and smiled helplessly as he stroked Brett's back. In a way, it had always been like that, now that he thought about it. That's just how it was, when it came to Brett.

Eventually, Brett's sobs subsided and he drifted into an exhausted, drunken sleep. But just before that, he whispered hoarsely, "I thought you were done with me too, Eddy. You've been avoiding me, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry," said Eddy. "I won't, anymore."

***

The storm passed during the night, and at six in the morning, even the closed blinds couldn't keep out the burgeoning sunlight.

The two of them were sitting at the small breakfast table over coffee that Brett had made while Eddy cleaned himself up. Both of them looked weak and wan. Eddy winced lightly as he raised the cup to his lips. After putting Brett to bed, he'd stuck around just in case, and sleeping on that small Ikea couch was really not the most pleasant way to spend the night. 

Still, he was glad he did it.

"Sorry about last night," Brett said, trying to act normal but no doubt embarrassed. "Don't know what got into me. Probably just the wine, ha. You should try to forget anything weird I said or did. But thanks for coming around and checking up on me."

Eddy shook his head and smiled. "It's fine. We all have our ups and downs. I have to head out soon, but do you need anything else?"

"Nah."

"...I guess you'll need time to figure things out?"

"Yeah. It was really impulsive." Brett sighed regretfully. Then, with a more upbeat smile reminiscent of his usual self, he said, "But don't worry, I'll figure it out. I always have."

"Right. Do you know if you'll be... staying in Sydney?"

"I don't know. I was thinking of going back to Brisbane for a little while. It's kind of embarrassing, but it seems like the best option. Or I might stick around and try to find a new gig. The options for a classical musician are pretty limited though, so I'll have to think about it."

Eddy cleared his throat. "I guess what I wanted to ask was, do you want to stay with me?"

"What?"

"I have an extra room. It's closer to downtown, and I think it would make economic sense for both of us..."

"Eddy," Brett said with a laugh, "You don't have to feel sorry for me. I'll totally manage. Don't worry about it."

"No, I'm serious! To be honest, I've been meaning to find a roommate anyway. I thought I'd be fine living on my own, but it's actually been quite...lonely, in a way. I'm surprised you've been able to do it for so long. Anyway, I think it'd be a lot more fun to live with you than a stranger, so if you need a place to crash for awhile...I mean, just give it some thought, yeah?"

Brett stared at him quietly, as if not quite sure what to make of this.

"Like, actually?"

Eddy smiled softly. "Yeah. Actually."

End of Part I


	14. Chapter 14

“Oh. Hi. Good morning.”

Not yet six, the sun barely risen, their hair sticking out every which way. They stared at each other for a moment—day 4 and they’re still not quite used to each other. Especially not this early.

Eddy broke the silence. “You’re headed to the radio station, right? Want a ride?”

Brett shrugged and said sure.

Eddy was quiet during the ride, squinting blearily at the road and taking occasional swigs of coffee. He wasn’t a morning person, was what Brett had learned. Funny, because before this, Brett had always thought him as one of those organized, productive people who got up at the crack of dawn to achieve their dreams or whatever. Well, not so. Three nights in that mess of an apartment had dispelled the notion. 

People are never who you think they are.

When they pulled up to the curb, Eddy suddenly asked, "But how are you getting home? I assume you don't work the full day?"

"Oh...shit." Brett laughed. "Wow, that was dumb. It's ok, I'll take the bus or something. Are you working until late?"

"Not super late today. Probably get back around eight."

"Okay.” He hesitated, the foreign words rolling around his tongue, before he finally spewed them out. “I’ll see you at home then.”

“…Yeah. See you.”

He stood there and watched Eddy's car until it disappeared from sight. What he didn't say: that he knew full well he should've driven himself, but he simply didn't want to. 

You’re never who people think you are.

The receptionist gave him a bright smile. _Hi Brett how was your weekend. Great how was yours. Well I met this guy…_

Brett nodded along, thinking, _who gives a fuck._

The sound technician was better. He hated Brett as much as he hated people generally. Gave Brett a grunt of greeting and motioned for him to start. And once he started, things were smooth sailing. He could sit back and listen--the only time these days that he could really enjoy classical music anymore. Sad, but that was how it was.

Anyway, a few hours and it was done. The technician unhooked him and waved goodbye. A few others who worked there chatted with him on the way out. Everything was so routine that he could almost forget that his life had changed completely, that some vital part of him had simply disappeared.

He could almost forget, except, then: “Brett? Coffee?”

“I can’t believe you just _quit_!”

“Will you quiet down?”

The coffee shop was pleasantly empty after the morning rush, and only John’s loud exclamation shattered the peace. Brett shot an apologetic smile at the annoyed barista before resuming. “Anyway, yes. Or actually, I’m taking a leave of absence.”

“So it’s temporary?”

“I don’t know.”

“But they’ll take you back, is what I mean?”

“I think so. Not that I’ll want to go back.

John looked him over dubiously. “You say that, but …”

But in fact, Brett was sure he wouldn't. In his thirty years of existence, he had never once reversed a decision. What's done was done.

Besides, though he'd told Eddy he'd done it on impulse, that wasn't strictly true. He’d been thinking about it for a long time. Years, even. It’s just that he’d finally taken the plunge.

Here’s the thing, he might say, if he ever got around to explaining this to anyone. I still love music.

So some weeks were better than others. If they were performing a piece he liked, or something new with a cool soloist, he could immerse himself, remember why he’d wanted to be here in the first place, feel excited again. But those moments had dwindled with time, and work became just work.

Late one evening, he was lying in bed next to a stranger. By then, the excitement from a night around town had seeped out of him. He stared at the ceiling for hours, wondering what the fuck was wrong. Nothing, technically. It was the life he always wanted. Sydney, the capital: fun and glamor—the grand opera house, the grungy dive bars—concerts and sex and parties—a shimmering, glimmering escape from the sluggish small-town existence of Brisbane. No judgment, no strings.

And then? And then he peeked down the tunnel and suddenly couldn’t see an end. The illusion broke. It would just be this, he thought in the darkness, day in and day out, for the rest of his life. Just him, alone, wasting hours at work, then wasting hours after work, none of it amounting to much of anything.

And he’d always thought he’d be different. Joke’s on him. To be different, you needed to be great, and—as Brett had finally learned—he simply wasn’t.

His hands probably realized before his brain did.

So he failed that audition for the quartet he wanted to join, a change that might save him from himself. He told the conductor like it was no big deal. The conductor gave him a veiled look of pity. _Pity_. The last straw.

Anyway, he was on a voluntary leave of absence. Whatever.

“Thanks for letting me stay on though,” Brett said to John. “I know it was supposed to be a short term thing, until you got back from pat leave.”

“Nah, it’s a big help actually. The baby’s driving me crazy. And the wife.”

“But you’re happy.”

“…Yeah.” John smiled as he said this, and Brett felt a small jolt of envy. It was stupid, but they had gone to school together, had fun together, made mistakes together, but John had grown out of it and found what he was looking for, whereas he…

“Anyway, the listeners like you. Find you endearing and funny.”

Brett snorted. “Well, at least my mistakes are good for something,” he half-joked.

John gave him heavy pat on the shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short. Let me know if you need anything.”

*

The apartment was eerily silent when Brett got back. He put the groceries away quickly and opened all the blinds.

The sunlight helped a little. (That was what he missed most, when he lived in the dinky first-floor flat.) The white noise from the TV helped a little more. It was 2 pm. Just six more hours, and Eddy would be home, maybe.

A surge of irritation welled up inside and he sank into the couch with a frown. It had only been three days—three days of Eddy sticking around to help him move—and that had been enough to instill reliance, to erase more than a half-decade of independence. Now, alone in the apartment, he felt a strange hollowness.

And he had been so excited to live by himself when he moved to Sydney, remember that? No more cramming into a small dorm room with three other people, he’d thought, or sharing a space with a fussy boyfriend.

“Brett, why don’t you come with me?” the boyfriend had asked. “I … I mean...I love you, you know that, right?”

“…Sorry…”

He was 22; he had his whole life before him. He’d meet people in Sydney, lots of people, better people, and have lots of fun. Love? Meh. That was what he'd thought. 

His gaze landed on the photo hanging out on the end table—Eddy and that girl. More specifically: Eddy with his arms around that girl, smiling. Another frown. A sharp prick of resentment. He itched to reach over and collapse the frame face down.

Silly girl. How could she have thrown him away like that? But then again, who was he to talk… He closed his eyes and willed the feelings away.

Eddy walked in just as Brett finished setting the table. He froze in the doorframe and stared.

Brett stared back. Subtly, he ran his eyes over the other man, the handsome, intelligent face; the broad body in the nice suit. A figure wholly incongruous with the skinny, nerdy boy he’d known in high school. How could he have guessed…? A wave of shyness crashed over him, which he quickly suppressed.

His collar was a tad rumpled; Brett wanted to smooth it out. Instead, he smiled and said, “Hey, welcome back. You gonna just stand there?”

“Hey…Oh, sorry. I guess I’m just still not used to living with someone,” Eddy replied with an embarrassed laugh.

“Not too late to kick me out.”

“No, that’s not—!”

“I’m _kidding_. Go wash your hands, Doc. I’d like to eat some time this century.”

It was all easy, run-of-the-mill stuff. Rice, tomato with egg, that sort of thing. But Eddy was still amazed somehow, and he ate everything with a look of wonder. “I can’t believe you made all this. I didn’t even know you _could_ cook.”

Brett rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know you _couldn’t_. This is like college cooking 101.”

“Yeah, but...I’m pretty hopeless in the kitchen.”

“Huh. I guess you don’t need to learn, on a doctor’s salary.”

“Hey! Don’t make fun of me. But anyway, you know what this reminds me of though? Like stuff my mom used to make back at home.”

“So…you hate it?”

“No, it’s really good.” Eddy paused to choose his words. “What I mean is, you know how like, when you’re young, all you want to eat is McDonalds or pizza or whatever, because you’re never allowed to have those things. And you end up taking the stuff your mom makes for granted. But then when you grow up and leave home, all you really want is a home-cooked meal and you’re willing to pay everything but you can’t find it anywhere, and—I’m blabbering. Sorry. It’s nice, is what I’m trying to say.”

Brett laughed. His heart lightened, and a faint feeling of warmth spread through his veins. 

What was it about Eddy, exactly, that always achieved this effect in him? The earnestness? The sincerity?

_What do you know about pretending?_

Eddy--he couldn’t if he tried.

“Thanks.”

The magical warmth persisted as they cleaned up the table and did the dishes. Eddy insisted on doing the washing, but Brett hovered around to chat. _How was your day? Good how was yours?_ A recount of the receptionist’s weekend date. A recap of hospital staffroom gossip. Inconsequential stuff that they shared a good laugh over, stuff they’ll forget in a heartbeat.

_Normal_ stuff. The type of normality, in fact, that Brett had once looked down upon, abhorred even, but which now…

“Do you get to rest now?”

“No.” Eddy heaved a sagging sigh. “I have to keep chugging away at this report … Ugh. Bosses are the worst.”

“Tough luck, bro.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Make some tea, then watch TV, probably. The benefits of being funemployed, you know?” 

“Wow. Way to rub it in.”

Brett smirked as he reached for a cup. He rose on his toes and was just about to grasp the handle when Eddy got to it first.

His large body hovered just behind Brett’s, dwarfing his own small frame, so close that Brett could feel his body heat. Their fingers grazed lightly against each other’s, creating a small jolt of electricity. Brett retracted his hand and whipped around. His face almost hit Eddy’s chest.

“S-sorry,” Eddy stuttered, his face crimson as he jumped away. “I just thought I’d try to help…since I’m taller…”

Brett’s heart beat wildly in his chest. It was stupid…just a touch of the fingers. Nothing remotely erotic about that. (But then why was his face red? And why that look in his eyes?)

He thought about the picture of the girl on the end table. He thought about how Eddy craved relationships that meant something. He thought about how Eddy avoided him after that kiss……

Don’t ruin this, Brett Yang.

So now, he accepted the mug gracefully and gave Eddy a nonchalant grin. “Wow. Way to rub it in.”

He retreated to his room after that. It was still a mess; he should clean it, put things back in order; but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he turned on his computer and watched a few shows, without absorbing much of anything. He avoided looking at his violin.

Later, at a reasonably late hour, he slid under the covers and turned off the lights. Another day gone and wasted. In the dark silence, his mind began to churn again. He was sure he’d made the right decision. He always did. _But._ But what if this time, this one time, it was a mistake? And then, if it wasn’t a mistake, the question remained: what was he supposed to do with himself now?

It was never easy to rip off the band-aid. The pain wasn’t always momentary, and if you misjudge the timing, the wound festers.

The only thing that offered him a modicum of solace as he tossed and turned was that persistent sliver of light seeping in from under the door, and the faint clickety-clack of the keyboard as Eddy typed his report. 

It reminded him that, at the very least, he wasn’t totally alone. And in a city like this, he'd learned that that counted for something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. <3


End file.
